


Spidey Meets World (More Importantly, The Avengers)

by ParaCipher351



Category: Marvel, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Tower, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Cinnamon Roll Peter Parker, Coffee, Domestic Avengers, Field Trip, Flash Thompson Being A Jerk, Flash Thompson Bullies Peter Parker, Fluff, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker's Field Trip to Stark Industries, Peter is a Little Shit, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Tony Stark, Science Bros, Stark Industries, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2020-11-26 20:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParaCipher351/pseuds/ParaCipher351
Summary: The Avengers have faced many villainous foes. Each one more difficult than the last. Each one leaving them with the question of whether or not they’ll be able to survive the next hit. But they pull through. They have to. They are Earths’ mightiest hero’s. And nothing can- holy shit is that a Spider?!...Where Peter “Cinnamon Roll” Parker proves to be the hardest challenge yet.And where everyone’s asking: “where the fuck are the adoption papers?!”(Also, if it wasn’t clear, Peter and the Avenger fam are trying domestic fluff on for size)(That didn’t explain anything either. It's one of those "Peter meets Avengers for the first time" fics. It’s good, I swear!)





	1. Smash Bros and Plum Throws

-BUCKY-

He was really starting to hate him.

By him, Bucky meant Clint who was perched on the arm of the couch, Wii remote in hand, in the middle of a very heated game of Super Smash Bros.

Now, on its own, that wouldn't bother him. It was the fact that the archer was whooping and hollering at every bit of damage dealt. Weather he was on the dealing or receiving end. Sam wasn't much help, either. Grumbling and cursing things under his breath that Steve would _not _approve of as he neared his last life.

It was just something about two grown men, both one of 'Earths Mightiest Hero's', making a greatly audible deal over a game targeted for 5-year old. He begrudgingly sat through the girlish shrieks of Clint and the furious button mashing of Sam slightly on edge from all the irritating noise, finally losing it when the blonde proceeded to jump up in excitement after successfully knocking him off the floating platform.

Slamming his hands against the counter top, his metal arm making a jolting '_smack' _against the granite.

"That's it, Barton!" he barked over the sounds of Clint's celebratory shouts, instantly putting stop to the other man's victory and gaining the attention of everyone else in the room.

All the Avengers (sans Tony who was off in his workshop and Thor who was off world) eyed him expectantly, waiting for him to wring someone's (probably Clint's) neck.

"If you don't stop screaming and carrying on like a toddler," he spat. "I will personally rip that television of the wall and put it through the window!"

There was a pause. Then, Clint slumped back down into his spot on the armrest, pouting. 

"Fine, _Terminator._ No need to go all 'commando' on my ass." At this, Steve, leaning against the wall, let out a small chuckle. Bucky heard, angrily turning his gaze towards the captain, shooting icy daggers his way.

"I can't believe you actually find this funny Mr. "Star-Spangled-Man-With-A-Plan." Steve immediately grew red at the mention of his, ahem, _'past occupation'._ Sheepishly hiding behind the sketchbook he was working on. 

"I can't believe you still call it a Television." snarked Rhodey from behind the kitchen sink, rinsing off a plum. he simply rolled his eyes at his backhanded jab. Just then, <strike>Natalia</strike> Natasha came up behind the War Machine, skillfully swiping the plum from his grasp before casually leaning back against the counter. 

"Don't hassle the old man." she retorted, smirking at Bucky who in return, flashed her a mocking grin.

"Don't look at me!" the spy continued. "It's your own fault. You've been here long enough to have been expected to have dropped the vintage vocabulary."

Rhodey tried to make a grab for the fruit, but she simply tossed it across the room with deadly aim to Wanda who sat cuddled up with Vision in the loveseat with what appeared to be one of the Harry Potter books in her lap.

However, before the plum could hit its intended target, the girl effortlessly lifted her free hand, stretching her fingers as a scarlet aura engulfed the fruit, stopping it in its tracks. for a second, she didn't look up, seemingly finishing the paragraph she was reading. Then, she lay the open-faced book down in her lap, turning her attention to the suspended fruit.

"But that's what it's called, isn't it?" she said, maneuvering her fingers as the same scarlet magic spindled around them, causing the fruit to turn slowly midair. "a television?" 

"Oh, god. There's two of them!" Clint squawked from the couch as he set himself up for another round against Sam, taking his sweet time choosing his brawler much to the annoyance of Wilson.

"Ha-ha." Wanda huffed flatly. Flicking her wrist, she sent the plum sailing across the room, magic dissipating around it leaving it just a normal fruit. Natasha raised her hand above her head, preparing to catch the make-shift baseball.

But Bucky was already on the move, quickly snatching the plum out of the air and looking Nat in the eyes, bit into the flesh of the fruit.

"You're no fun, you know that Barnes?" she scoffed, her steely tone laced with amusement.

"I'm an old man." he recited. "I'm not _supposed _to be fun." Taking another bite of the plum, Bucky watched as Rhodey's face fell.

"That was my plum..." he murmured dejectedly. Natasha snorted and Steve let out barking laugh, deep and satisfying. He was forced to set his sketchbook down on a nearby window sill due to him practically splitting his sides. Bucky cracked a grin at his friends exaugurated reaction (and if he dared, would even call him a drama queen).

Then, alerting him to his existence, Bruce looked up from his swirling cup of coffee and miscellaneous papers scattered across the table, risking a shy grin, shaking his head.

"You guys are so immature." His voice loud and exasperated for his pessimistic demeaner. If there was anyone who wasn't laughing by then, they sure as hell were now. Bruce, now satisfied with his work, turned back to his papers.

It amazed Bucky who only a couple of months prior would never had believed he would be able to laugh like this. A real wholehearted, fulfilling laugh.

Sighing contently, his gaze roving over the room one final time before turning back to the open laptop he had abandoned in favor of reprimanding Barton. Plugging one of the forgotten head phones back in, he took to the internet once more. 

The Widow was right about one thing.

Ever since he had begun his stay with Steve and the rest of the Rouges (and some of Tony’s), he had realized immediately that he was pretty much obligated to catch up with society if he wanted to understand a single thing they said. Even Steve was partially acquainted with modern lingo.

With a little help from Tony (and some not-so-helpful input from Clint), he was able to set himself up on a Stark computer, scouring the web daily for the latest in pop culture.

Clint had tried to introduce him to something called “meemee’s”, but it was much too confusing to wrap his head around.

Steve had suggested a ‘streaming’ site called “YouTube", which is what he was currently browsing.

For the past couple of days, Bucky had taken to watching vines and gameplay demonstrations. Scrolling through the homepage, he quickly checked the clock at the bottom corner of the screen. It read “11:37 pm”.

Weird. By now, Stark would’ve come down to the common room and kicked everybody out for reasons of his own. But the man was nowhere to be seen. In fact, no one had caught sight of the man all day.

Bucky couldn’t care less, though. Settling on a suggested news feed, he relaxed back into his stool, taking another bite of his plum, letting the juice dribble down his chin before wiping it away with his sleeve.

Once the page had finished loading, he hovered the mouse over the video before clicking play (he was finally starting to get the hang of technology). It started off normal, three professionally dressed anchors stood, smiling into the camera, huddled together in a news room. The man on the right started speaking.

“We will get back to the traffic collision on 95 in a bit. Stayed tuned. In other news, we are getting reports of an apartment fire going down west of Park Avenue where police say there is a family of 4 trapped inside. We now go live to our field reporter Pam who is on the scene. Pam?” he finishes in a ‘take-it-away’ tone.

Footage of a frazzled young brunette fills up the screen allowing a better view of the chaos happening in the background. There is a short delay as they wait for the transmission to come through before speaking into the microphone.

“Thanks, Micah.” She picks up the dialogue. “As you can clearly see behind me, there is an on-going fire that has only continued to spiral out of control. Witness report suggests the fire started on the 4th floor and has been slowly making its way upwards. Fire Marshals have since rescued the parents from the wreckage but have no way to reach the two children inside.”

Past the reporter, you could see a distraught couple huddled together beneath a tinfoil blanket, the supposed mother sobbing into the neck of her spouse. Pam continued.

“Local authorities are refraining from sending anyone else in for fear of damaging the structural integrity any further. Evidence suggests that the young victims are being held on the 7th floor, with oxygen dwindling. They say tha-“

but right in the middle of her statement, a flash of red and blue spandex soars above the crowd, crashing through the few windows that remained intact by that point, creating a make-shift entrance to the 7th floor.

As the herd of on-lookers begin frantically grabbing for any photo-capable device they might have on, the young journalist begins regaling the news of the last 20 seconds.

“For those of you just now tuning in, we here down at the Daily Bugle have just been visited by an unexpected guest. Queens own _Spiderman!_”

Bucky perked up at the mention of the wall-crawling vigilante. He was brought back to their little run-in at the airport in Berlin.

Upon meeting him, he was astounded to find out that not only could he easily block a full-forced _vibrainium_ blow from him, but also by the fact that when he spoke, he had sounded so young. The guy had to be at least 20 (cause he probably couldn’t forgive himself if he ended up launching a _kid_ out of a second story window).

Throughout their short-lived fight, he had quipped and bantered all the while holding his own against an Avenger and the Winter Soldier. He had even stopped to admire Bucky’s prosthetic (mid punch, he might add) stating that ‘it was awesome, dude!’

It shocked Bucky who, up until that point, had seen his, ah, _attachment _as a burden, a harsh reminder of all the blood that had been spilled because of it. Because of _him._

But in the kid’s eyes, he saw it as it simply was. A freakin’ metal arm (which is an innocent way to put it. God he really was a kid, wasn’t he?).

But I guess coming from a guy how could catch a bus with his bare hands, that’s really saying something. Turning his attention back to the screen, Bucky realize that Spiderman had yet to come out of the blazing building.

Concerned, he checked the time stamp of the video. It was only posted a couple of hours ago. And he was sure the media would have a field day if the so-called ‘menace’ was reported dead, cremated beneath thousands of pounds of scorched rubble. So, he would have heard about if he didn’t make it.

Suddenly, a low rumble was emitted from the video, supposedly coming from the building. Above the shrieks and shouts and the sirens of police officers trying to push the on-coming crowd back, Pam picked up where she left out, voice panicking.

“I am being told that apartment’s support beams have cracked, leaving those inside to face being crushed by the floors above them.”

Just as she predicted, not a second latter, the roof caved in on itself, swallowing everything inside. Like a pyramid of dominos. With the rubble eating away of the floors below, causing them to collapse a swell.

Quickly doing the math, Bucky counted 14 floors (that were still intact). And one by one, each floor gave way. Just as the wreckage reached the 9th floor, a mass of red and blue shot (once again) through the window. Freefalling for just a millisecond before a thick white substance (web he was told) was launched out, attaching itself to a lamppost and the building across from it.

A split-second latter the building completely crumpled to the ground like a Jenga tower. The lump of body’s landed swiftly in the makeshift net, bouncing harmlessly a couple of times before settling in.

After a suspenseful 5 seconds, the body’s unfurled, revealing two slightly-charred toddlers, maybe around 6 to 8 years old, shaking in his arms.

Carefully setting them down as to not jar any unknown injuries, he worked quickly, attaching a strand of web to each of them before slowly lowering them down to the awaiting medics below.

But before they could get them to the EMTs, a familiar couple surged forward. Pushing their way through the condensed crowd before dropping on their knees to embrace their almost-lost children.

The footage was grainy, but Bucky could almost make out tears slipping from frightened eyes.

You saw it here, folks.” Pam said, interrupting the touching moment. “A family reunited thanks to Queens own, Spider Man.”

Bucky’s focus was interrupted by the sounding of the elevator, signaling the arrival of, well, _someone. _

Turning his attention away from the screen, he looked up, expecting to see Stark barging through the doors, reeking of coffee and motor oil. Instead, he was greeted by a small, lanky kid, probably still in high school, stepping out on to the Avengers communal floor.

He had a mop of unruly coffee colored hair which he was repeatedly running his hand through and puppy dog eyes that took on a warm brown tone (like they were gazing into his soul…).

A tattered backpack overflowing with stray papers was slung over his soldier in an awkward position, practically sliding down his arm if not for his firm grip on the strap.

His converse squeaked against the tile floor as he continued walking, unaware of the room teeming with Avengers.

Until he was.

Finally looking up, he stopped short, eyes wide, and mouth agape. When he wasn’t catching flies, he was choking on his words, stumbling over a sentence. His face growing visibly paler by the second.

Everyone’s eyes were on him (which was understandably unsettling).

His hand fell limp at his side letting the backpack slide down haphazardly on to the floor (surprisingly without cracking the tile). His other hand was rooted to the spot in his mass of unruly hair (<strike>it looked so soft</strike>).

Bucky’s eyes roved over the intruder. How come FRIDAY hadn’t warned any of them? Someone must’ve hacked into the AIs system. This day just keeps getting worse.

Finally, after many trials and errors, the kid managed to spit out a (slightly concerning) sentence.

“Y-you’re n-not Mr. S-stark…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup new readers! Hope you've enjoyed your first chapter!


	2. Shiiiiii-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peters point of view up until the point we left off at. Enjoy!

-PETER-

_*10 Minutes Earlier*_

The drive there was normal. Happy sat silently up front with Peter seated in the back talking miles a minute, rambling on and on about estranged topics just to pass the time.

Although Happy acted as though he wasn’t remotely interested, rolling his eyes and sighing impatiently, Peter would catch him steeling glances back at him in the rear-view mirror when he thought he wasn’t looking (he wasn’t, but he could sense it).

And against what the man said, constantly insisting thought it to be annoying, he totally noticed when he would smile ever so slightly every time he greeted him when Happy picked him up (which only encouraged him to do it more).

In the end, the car pulled up in front of the almost home-like Tower, Avengers emblem looming above them.

Stepping out onto the streets of Manhattan, he turned and waved back at the man enthusiastically.

“Bye, Happy! Thanks again for the ride!”

He squinted his eyes at Peter, probably wanting to protest, saying it was his _job _to give him a ride. Instead, the man just sighed, his gaze softening ever so slightly.

“See yah, kid.” He simply said, waiting for Peter to close the door before peeling away from the curb and down the street.

He slung his comically large school bag over his shoulder, wincing as the straps dug into the burns he had acquired only a couple of hours earlier. He shifted his grip on the strap before making his way through the neighboring alleyway and around the back of the towering building.

Skillfully hidden behind the angled walls and mounds of garbage, Peter located the secret metal doors connected to the tower. Brushing away some bird poop with his sleeve (he would have to wash that later), he dug out the steel panel, still shiny and stainless even though it was in the middle of dumpster central.

A while back, Tony had given him access to the personal Avengers elevator, which was originally used to escape hordes of shrieking fan-girls and invasive paparazzi. Now used by Peter when he wanted a middle-of-the-night snack after a long day of Spider-manning.

He pressed down on the center-most key, lights flashing beneath his thumb. He then waited for a response.

“Hello, Peter.” Chimed a metallic voice from seemingly nowhere. “Hey, FRI!” he greeted, the doors slid open to reveal a sleek elevator.

He stepped into the box, immediately going to lean against the wall in the back. He stood like that for a second before realizing he hadn’t moved. Embarrassed, he called out once more.

“U-ugh, FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Um, uh, j-just. Just give me a second.”

“Of course.”

He honestly had no idea where in the Tower to go. He knew Mr. Stark would immediately chide him for being so reckless (Or ‘the cause of all his anxiety’ as the man put it).

But, come on! It was a _burning building. _You know, innocent lives at stake? Not some night out drinking with friends (which, he honestly couldn’t do thanks to his metabolism).

But he still didn’t want to argue with a man who had the power to take away his Pop-Tart privileges.

Mm. Pop-Tarts. That sounded as good as it could get. Just one problem…

“FRIDAY? Where’s Mr. Stark right now?”

“Boss is currently in his personal lab.”

Yes! Peter knew for a fact that man wouldn’t leave that room for hours (as long as he had a ready pot of coffee on standby). He was a go for Pop-Tarts.]

Trying to mask his excitable disposition, he called out once more.

“Can you take me to the common room?” It was directly connected to the kitchen after all.

“Sure thing, Peter.”

With that the elevator effortlessly began to rise, make no inclination (other than the rising feeling in his gut) that it was moving at all.

Knowing he had approximately 84 levels to go, he relaxed back into the cool metal walls of the box.

As he glanced to the side, he saw his reflection, blurry and unintelligible, but still his. He could barely make out the blistering scorch marks on his arms, self-consciously pulling the sleeves of his plaid shirt back down his arms.

He didn’t want to worry Mr. Stark, knowing it would heel in a matter of days rather than the weeks on end it took normal people.

Honestly, Tony worried too much. He should know by now that he’s faced worse than what he’s seen and that was when he was still working alone. Besides, the new suit he had made for him took on much more of the damage than he would’ve only a couple of months ago.

He had also purposely kept him away from the Rouge Avengers (Peter wanted to call them the RougeVengers but Mr. Stark had shot that idea down pretty quickly), not that he wanted to meet them. Mr. Stark had told him all about the events of Siberia and during those weeks of recovery, Peter couldn’t help feeling pretty pissed at the Captain for leaving his so-called “friend” to die. Tony had been so, well, so _broken_…

But Peter knew that only worried cause he cared. Either about him or the suit (he hoped it was the former). And, against all odds, he had grown to care about him as well (crazy, right?!)

I mean, yah, in the past, he only cared about him as his idol and hero. Him dying meant he would never be able to meet him.

But now, losing him would be like losing a parent (and he sure as hell knew how that felt).

Peter had become the one to refill his coffee pot when he was too wrapped up in a project to even look away, the one to hide his liquor bottles when he wasn’t looking (Hint, they were collectively webbed up in the air ducts), the one to replace the bottle of bleach in his hand with the intended milk because the man was too sleep deprived to tell the difference (is it just me, or is there a liquid theme going on right now?)

And Tony had grown to be the one to purposely short -circuit one of the suits just for Peter to have an excuse to mess with it, the one to break out the _good _pasta when he had a shitty day and if that didn’t work out (which was half the time), he ordered takeout and rented a Disney Movie (he was still trying to convince Mr. Stark to watch Iron Giant), and was the one who would go out at one in the morning in the middle of the rain cause Peter had fallen asleep on the rooftops during patrol and he was worried he would get a cold.

He would never be able to get over it if he got himself killed.

Wait no that doesn’t sound right.

If Mr. Stark were to go, it would be driving an Audi off a suspended closed-course , AC/DC blasting, with the Iron Man suits blowing up behind him.

Or by stroke due to alcohol consumption.

Either one worked.

Peters thoughts were pulled away as the elevator chimed, signaling his stop.

“Here you are, Peter.” Friday spoke.

“Thanks, Fri.” He said, adopting the nickname he had heard Tony use on multipool occasions.

The AI seemed to hum at this (if that’s possible).

The elevator chimed before the doors slid open, allowing Peter to step off onto the communal floor, preparing to make a bee line for the pantry for long awaited Pop-Tarts.

Shit.

Instead he was greeted by the sight of the entirety of the RougeVengers (see, it worked!) all strewn across the room doing, well, a bunch of surprisingly domestic things.

He could here the theme to Smash Bros playing and WAS THAT HARRY POTTER.

While he was standing there dumbstruck (great job, Parker) his backpack had managed to make its way from his hold to the floor.

Realizing he nor any of them had said a word, he decided to fill the void-like silence.

Instead, though, he found himself stuttering and sputtering, and all in all dashing his chances of ever making a good impression, wishing for the sweet embrace of death.

Finally, after pulling what little was left of his self esteem together, he managed to spit out something along the lines of intelligible.

"Y-you’re n-not Mr. S-stark…”

Shiiiiiiii-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So this chapter took WAY too long than what I was hoping for. Hopefully you can expect new chapters every 7 to 10 days (don't judge me this shit hard!)(ง'̀-'́)ง  
Also, wow you guys I am seriously FLOORED with all the kudos and feedback. Thank you so much for making this so much easier! Next chapter is in the works so, as I said before, stay patient!


	3. Pillow Fight

-PETER-

“Y-you’re n-not M. S-stark…”

Damn, his day just keeps getting better.

Standing rooted to the spot, all eyes on him, all Peter could feel was the grimy, unkempt clumps of hair sticking to his most likely splotchy complexion.

Of course, today of all days. Of any and every possible day, puberty decided to rear its ugly (and fairly greasy) head. And now, he had to face THE Avengers looking like a half-assed skinned potato with... hair I guess…?

Nevermind.

The fact of the matter was, Peter was defiantly not prepared for this.

Nor was he prepared for the not-so-friendly frisbee that was thrown his way. His senses giving him just enough warning to stumble out of the way of metal disk that cut through the empty air where he once stood, passing by in a blur of red, white, and blue.

Whipping his head around just in time to see the shield embed itself in the now closed elevator doors, he flinched hard, cupping his ears at the loud metallic ‘CLANG’ that resonated throughout the room.

The signature sound of vibrainium striking metal left his all-too sensitive ears ringing, throwing him slightly off his balance. And his game.

Which apparently just enough leverage for the Avengers to make their move.

Before Peter could even blink, they were on him. Pastimes forgotten, they surged forward to intercept him.

Knowing he could easily take (and possibly harm) them, he tried to stick to the defensive side. But as it turned out, the full force of the Avengers (minus Iron Man. Where was he?!) was not to be reckoned with.

Desperately smacking away oncoming fists, feet, and the occasional Wii controller (wait what…?), he found himself becoming overwhelmed by his oppressors who were swarming him from every side.

Someone was shouting, but it was like a whisper compared to sounds of battle and the blaring of his senses screaming at him about the constant danger.

And it hurt like hell.

His entire skull felt like splitting as his head began to throb. The pain crept into his vison, blurring the edges of his line of sight.

Peter yelped as something stiff yet plushy smacked him square in the face. Taking a step back, he was suddenly aware of a crimson couch cushion laying discarded on the floor (WHY).

In the corner of his eye, he saw the Avengers stepping off, putting as much space between themselves and their target while still staying close enough as to not give him an escape route.

And he didn’t need his Spidey Sense to know something was about to happen.

Suddenly, a barrage of cushions and pillows alike came flying across the room at an alarming rate. There was a split second where Peter found himself frozen with <strike>fascination</strike> fear.

Which was a big ‘Oh Shit’ moment on his part.

The first one crashed dead center into his torso, sending him stumbling backwards with a surprising amount of force. Tearing the cushion from his chest, he readied himself for the oncoming hail weaponized pillows.

He wasn’t ready.

Two more ploughed into his shoulders, one after the other, effectively knocking him off his feet. His head jerked back slamming into the floor causing his mind to once again haze, the taste of bile never so strong

Once Peter was down, it was all over as more and more seemingly endless cushions built up on top of him, pressing against him tightly to the point where he couldn’t move.

Soon, his entire body was covered by a mound of pillows, cushions and a couple of beanbags. Feathers littered the floor around him, making it look like they had just bore witness to a pillow massacre (Such loss…).

Beneath the pile of all that is soft and comforting, Peter found that he… wasn’t that comfortable. Actually, he was starting to feel his breaths stifle, his lungs slowly constricting, making it harder and harder to come back up for air.

It came to a point where his vision began to swirl once more, and not because of his dive head-first into tile.

Unbeknownst to him, the onslaught of pillows had stopped, leaving him at the mercy of the Avengers who up until now had been casually standing off to the side watching this whole ordeal go down.

“I’m only gonna ask you this once. Who sent you?” a voice, deep and authoritative, spoke out from somewhere past his line of sight. It held so much valor, Peter would’ve writhe if he wasn’t being suffocated by pillows.

Speaking of suffocation…

“I-I, I c-can’t _breathe_…” he choked out, barely staying conscious as the lack of oxygen caught up to him.

“O-oh, um…” it seemed to have caught the guy off guard, which he would’ve felt bad for if he wasn’t struggling to keep from blacking out.

“Wanda?” he simply stated, composure regained. Said as more of an unspoken request than it was a question.

Instantly, a girl about his age with levitating red hair (not gonna ask) emerged in front of him, a scarlet _something _engulfing her hands. She looked down on him with a guilty demeanor, laxing her tightly clenched fist. Immediately Peter felt his restraints loosen enough for him to greedily suck in heaving breaths.

After satisfying his lungs, he cleared his throat.

“U-um, what were you saying?”

Off to his left, a man, who he assumed was the one talking earlier, stepped directly in front of him. He was strongly built, looming over him at a startling height, with a neatly trimmed head of blonde with eyes that, even shrouded in shadows, were unmistakably blue.

Decked out in simple sweats and a plain shirt both a variety of grey, he would’ve thought him an (admittedly unnaturally large) average guy if it weren’t for the star-spangled shield strapped tightly around his forearm.

He felt a twinge of spite at the sight of the American hero. Mr. Stark had recounted to him his, um, _experiences _with the Captain in Siberia. Although he had insisted there was no tension between them when they moved back in, Peter couldn’t overlook the fact that this man, a man who Tony had housed, provided, defended, protected, familiarized, and above all, _trusted _could effortlessly leave him to the biting cold of an off-grid, abandoned bunker with a busted suit and no means of getting back. All for some friend who, may I remind you, tried to kill him. TWICE!

I mean, yah I guess Mr. Stark _did _try to kill him too, but still.

He hadn’t been there for Tony like he had been there for the other guy.

He hadn’t been there when, after 12 hours of extensive tracking and locating, Tony was brought back on a stretcher, beaten and bruised, clinging to life. He hadn’t been there for the 2 weeks that he spent hospitalized with a tube up his nose, drifting between conscious and comatose. He hadn’t been there for the months of therapy, physical and mental, before he was finally able to function on his own. And even then, it was if-y.

He hadn’t been there for those dark hours in the night where the man made of iron broke apart like glass. Sobbing away after a painfully bad PTSD induced nightmare that only Peter witnessed, holding him while cried, teaching him how to breathe again…

Peter was pulled from his thoughts as the alleged blonde crouched down beside him, causing him to have to crane his neck to see him over the mound of pillows.

“Who,” he started again, the rigidity in his tone already ebbing away. “sent you.”

Now, normally when talking to an adult or hell, _any_ person for that matter, Peter would treat them with respect or at the very least, dignity. Him being too much of a people pleaser to do otherwise. But all dignity was thrown out the window the minute the man had dug his shield into the heart (arc reactor, but same thing) of one of the only people he could afford to care about.

So instead, he let is Spiderman snark take over.

“You know Mr. America, sir, those PSA’s never did do you justice.”

“Jesus, son. What are you, 14?” He asked, his face brimming with concern.

“I’m 15.” He almost spat. “And I’m not your son.”

At that, the man was visibly taken back. Pausing slightly before switching tactics.

“I don’t know who put you up to this,”

“Al-Qaeda.” Peter interjected, deadpan.

“But,” the man went on, a pang of annoyance flashing across his face. “You don’t have to go through with whatever it is you’re doing. We can help you.”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” he said, with every intention to end this interrogation as soon as possible. “No one put me up to this. I’m not working for some super secret terrorist organization and I’m not here to kill you, cause that’s what I’m hearing.”

“Than why are you hear?” Another person asked, this one female. She peered over the super soldier’s shoulder, iconic red hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. Peter shifted uncomfortably under Black Widow’s stern gaze of that somehow reminded him of Aunt May. “How did you even get past FRIDAY?”

“I didn’t ‘get past FRIDAY’.” He said, slightly peeved at their assumptions. “I was let in.”

“FRIDAY?” she accused.

“It’s true.” Confirmed the <strike>ceiling</strike> AI. “Boss has given him clearance to all areas of the tower.”

At this, she looked convinced, relaxed almost. Which was a complete one eighty from her intimidating stance just 3 seconds ago.

“So what, he could’ve just hacked into Friday’s system.” A new voice piped up. One that he vaguely remembered from his time in Germany. The bird guy.

“It’s not that simple.” She shot back. “FRIDAY’s system was designed by _Tony._”

“And?” he defied. Even with his suit, Peter was sure this man wouldn’t win anything against the famed spy. Especially an argument.

“_AND,_” she continued, voiced slightly raised, warning him to back down. “It means it’s basically impenetrable. The only way for anyone to get past her would be to collectively shut down the power to entire building and as you can see,” she indicated to the many lights and screens around them. “There hasn’t been a black out.”

“Wait, you actually believe this kid? _You?!_” A second, less broad, blonde man squawked. Waving his arms around franticly like a toddler.

“Yes, _me._” She mocked. Her tone daring anyone to disagree.

The man shut up immediately, though still looked unconvinced. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one to have picked up on the man’s disbelief. Yet another person stepped forward, making their presence known to the room, pushing unkempt curls from his face before speaking.

“The logic checks out.” Was all he stated (bit anticlimactic if you ask me). Apparently, his word was the law as the rest of the bystanders visibly softened at his affirmation. The Captain and the Widow (Café de Abejas, 2014) were immediately forgotten as Peter stared awestruck at the new comer. Because he _recognized_ that man. He remembered seeing him on the back of pretty much half of his textbooks.

Though he wasn’t wearing a starch lab coat like in most pictures, Dr. Banner looked almost exactly like his author profile with his wayfarer style prescription glasses through which he met his gaze. His eyes showing affinity yet uncertainty, as if asking him to confirm he was, in fact, not there to kill them.

That sympathy turned to awkward discomfort when he didn’t respond. Realizing he had been gawking at the Doctor for far too long, Peter awkwardly cleared his throat, reluctantly turning back to face the two previous Avengers.

“Y-yeah. Like I said. Completely innocent.”

Black Widow raised an accusing eyebrow at him, obviously picking up on his slight fan-girling.

“That still doesn’t explain what he’s doing here and how the hell he knows Stark.” Another person spoke up, seemingly materializing from nowhere.

If his super soldier build wasn’t a dead giveaway, the arm certainly did the trick. Cause his right arm was devoid of all and any flesh and was instead, made of a glistening metal. It was the other guy from the airport.

But instead of last time where he was more focused on impressing Mr. Stark, he now had the time to truly admire the prosthetic.

It was well thought out, composed of jointed plates, delicately arranged, each one sliding seamlessly into one another. Not only was the craftsmanship remarkable, but he could remember it being stronger and lighter than anything he had ever encountered. And, from what he could see, incredibly responsive. He can’t help but fantasize about the complex programming that must have gone into something like this…

“Well?” Cap pulled him from his thoughts, him coming face-to-face with the full force of his patriotic gaze, his conscious bubbling over in despair.

Before Peter could stutter out a half-assed explanation without jeopardizing his identity, the elevator signaled, doors sliding soundlessly open. The occupant was not as silent.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!” he shouted, causing even highly trained assassins to pale. He could’ve cried at the miraculous timing as Mr. Stark all but stormed into the room. His grease streaked completion an ungodly shade of crimson, looking ready to tear into every single offender in sight.

The rest of the Avengers immediately stepped off, backing as far way from the crime scene as possible. As Tony further entered the room, he saw Rhodey (or Uncle Rhodey as he had insisted, and he had refused, to call him) following close behind.

Wanting to diffuse the quickly escalating situation before Tony killed someone, he tried to get the man’s attention the best he could from his spot on the floor.

“Hey, Mr. Stark.” He called out. When the man looked down on Peter snuffed beneath the cushions, his gaze immediately softened. All previous aggravation expelled in an instant.

“Kid, why am I not surprised.” He huffed, a hint of affection hidden behind his sarcasm.

“Cause your Botox disables you from expressing any emotion.” He quipped without thinking.

At this, he got a snarky grin out of the man, who only stepped up his game.

“I’m disappointed in you, Parker. I thought you’d know by know that this,” he retorted, gesturing to his face. “Is all real.”

“Uh, Stark?” bird man cut the banter short. “Hate to break up, _whatever this is_, but who the hell is this kid?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are still here! (surprise surprise). Now, before you ask, The Widow and the Captain is an actual song by Café de Abejas. I just like thinking it as a song that Aunt May might listen to so Peter, in turn, would make a mental reference to no one in particular (*wink wink nudge nudge*) As you can see, I have finally gotten my shit together and finished this chapter. I'm really hoping they wont take this long in the future. You guys have already exceeded my expectations for internet hospitality (which were admittedly, pretty low). But seriously, you've been great! I'm already starting on chapter 4, so if you could, stay patient, stay weird, and stay tuned! *insert awkward sign off here*


	4. The Good, The Great, And The Grating

-TONY-

He had been in his workshop taking care of some things (really, he had been purposely ignoring the towering stack of papers that Pepper had, at some point, dropped off) when Rhodey had burst through the doors. Not bothering the step over his various unfinished projects haphazardly strewn about the room and instead, opting to plow right through them.

Before Tony could come up with some smart-ass remark about his bulldozer tactics, the man briskly held up a hand, signaling him to shut up. It was at that moment that he finally saw the urgency in his eyes. A desperation that pinned him to the edge of his seat.

It took a minute, an agonizing minute, before he was (somewhat) able to collect his thoughts

“We were all just… and then the kid…and they were... I-I tried to stop them b-but-” he sounded uncharacteristically frantic, panicked almost. But Tony put these thoughts to the back of his mind, already pushing past him, darting out of the room.

As he ran, he could mindlessly hear the other man’s pounding footsteps following close behind, but he didn’t care enough to look back. Cause he unfortunately knew exactly what he was dealing with.

Although they had their fun, ever since their return the Ex-Avengers (and company) had all been on edge, waiting for the next attack. Whether it be from HYDRA or the media.

News sources and social networking platforms alike had been getting off on the pardoning of Cap and his crew. Saying that it was “treasonous and negligent that these self-proclaimed heroes could commit such heinous crimes against not only America, but against humanity.”(A little much on the Victorian vocabulary if you ask me).

And those who were shortsighted and credulous enough believed every bit of it. Even going as far as to take matters into their own hands. Blowing up every site with a chat box with lewd, scathing comments of their own. All of them scornful. All of them Avenger centric.

There were some who stood for those who were pardoned. Defending their actions online and in public. Numerous Anti-Accords protests were popping up across not only the city, but the entirety of the U.S as well as a couple unnamed territories.

Still, every stranger was a potential threat. Tony remembered he had to spend half an hour convincing the residential spies that the Delivery guy was only carrying takeout, no bombs and the like (Nat still rifled through her meal, just to be sure).

And even though he tried to hide it (poorly he might add), Peter was a_ bit_ bitter when it came to Rogers. Tony knew it had been a big risk to invite Team Cap back to the tower, especially since it was practically a second home to the kid (he even had his own room and everything).

But despite all of his pent up resentment, he had accepted it without any complication. Only under the condition that he wouldn’t have to meet any of them and that his presence was kept a secret.

And that’s how they’d been living for the past 2 months.

Rhodes, in all of his wits and dexterity, was completely unaware of the kid’s spider side, convinced that he was simply a somewhat-more-than-an-intern intern.

Tony, on the other hand, knew just how well the kid could handle himself in a fight. Which was part of what he was afraid of. But this was the Avengers they were talking about…

“FRI! Give me visuals!” he shouted over the sound of heavy footsteps.

“On it, boss.” She replied. Voice wavering with worry (if an AI can sound worried).

A small holographic screen opened up next to him, keeping up with his pace, showing the CCTV feed of the <strike>living room</strike> communal floor.

Once at the end of hall, he stepped into the awaiting elevator, Rhodey in tow. With 42 floors to go between the labs and the Avengers, he let his body fall into autopilot as he turned his attention to the video.

The fight seemed already midway, less one sided than he had expected. Although Pete was holding his own, he was still painfully outnumbered. Leaving him struggling to keep his ground as an onslaught of-

Wait.

Was that…

Suddenly, pillows came flying forward at intense speeds, bringing Peter down on his back as more and more compressed against the growing pile.

Once every pillow and cushion on the floor had been spent (and that’s a lot), Steve circled from behind the newly instated pillow fort (not really that much of a fort as it was a mound). Brandishing his shield (probably as some intimidation tactic), he knelt next to the struggling kid, seemingly saying something.

37

“What’s he saying?” he called out. Immediately, the audio increased, picking up at the end of the man’s sentence. And the start of Pete’s.

“I-I, I c-can’t _breathe_...” Tony’s heart almost dropped out of his chest as he heard the desperate, gasping voice that sounded so misplaced compared to the awkward, witty tone he had grown <strike>fond</strike> used to.

34

Rogers’s intimidating demeanor was dropped, the impenetrable mask of authority completely shot down, leave him a sputtering mess.

Tony would’ve ridiculed the ‘Great Captain America’ at a loss for words if it weren’t for the fact that the kid’s breathe was quickly escaping him. The thought of his most defiantly blue completion made him lose his own breath.

But just as quickly as it left, the man’s composure was regained. Standing back at attention, he signaled for Wanda, who sheepishly loosened the plushy Constrictor around him.

31

Even through the grainy footage (he’d have to fix that), Peter gasped at the sudden flow of much-needed oxygen. His blue-on-the-verge-of-purple coloration disappear almost instantaneously, returned to their usual (yet slightly flushed) tone as took in shuddering breathes that gave him goosebumps.

29

When his panting slowed, he raised his head off the tile, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of, in his eyes, an unidentified speaker.

“U-um, you were saying?” he asked, picking back up the since dropped interrogation.

Once Steve had come around from beyond his peripheral vision, the kid visibly tensed. His distain towards the American hero no doubt reignited. 

25

“Who,” he asked, “sent you?”

Just then, the feed was interrupted by something else.

“Incoming call from Mrs. Potts.” FRIDAY stated, a little on the late side.

Before he could dismiss the call, the AI continued.

“It’s apparently, very important.”

Tony hesitated at that. Although he wanted to insure the safety of his spider-kid, he didn’t want to have to deal with a Pepper Potts scorned. In the end, he unwillingly answered, hoping to make this as short as possible.

As soon as he picked up, she started her spiel.

“I hope you’ve finished the expense reports I sent you.” She grilled, annoyance almost covering up the fondness in her voice. Almost.

“Do you mean the giant Jenga tower you left on my desk? Look, I haven’t gotten around to it, but I’m kinda – “

“Tony! You’ve got to do better than this! I can’t do everything for your company!”

“Well I can’t promote you any higher, Madam CEO unless of course, you wanna take a shot at a day in the life of the founder.”

“God no.” she teased. “I don’t think I could handle that sort of procrastination.”

18

“I’m wounded, Pep, I really am. But I really gotta – “

“You can’t just brush me off like that, Tony. Promise me you’ll get it done. And I don’t want some half-assed scout’s honor crap. I need you to commit to something.”

“Now, when have I ever half-assed anything?” he joked.

15

But if this was the only way to get Pepper off the line and guarantee the kid’s safety, he would read Bible front and back if he had to.

“I, Anthony Edward Stark, swear on my caffeine privileges, that I will go through the inhumane amount of paper work that Mrs. Potts has burdened me with.”

“Now that’s a solid promise.” She sighed. “I will be confiscating your coffee pot if I find out you still haven’t done it be tomorrow afternoon.”

12

“Now why would you need any more pots in your life?”

“That was a bad joke and you know it.” She huffed, yet a smile could be heard in her voice. “I’ll be checking with Rhodey to make sure you didn’t hire anyone else to do it for you.”

“You can count on me, Pepper.” Said man spoke up from behind Tony.

10

“Okay, Pep. I assume that all?”

9

“Yah, I guess.”

8

“Be sure to pour yourself a drink when you get back.”

7

“God knows I deserve it.”

6

“That and so much more.”

5

“Well, I guess this is goodbye.”

4

“I bid you a due.”

3

“Oh Tony?”

2

“Yes?”

“Get some sleep.”

Just as the call disconnected, the elevator came to a stop. Doors sliding soundlessly open. The sight he was greeted with was all too than he imagined. worse.

Peter still lay crumpled beneath the mountain of pillows but now, every other Avenger stood towering over him like a pack of dogs. And suddenly, all the anger and fear he felt before came rushing back.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!” His volume shocked even himself, but he didn’t dwell on that.

Tony surged forward, Rhodey silently following, as the opposing Avengers raised their hands in surrender, backing away from the scene.

But before he could go and break something, his attention was pulled away by a meek voice from below.

“Hey, Mr. Stark.” When he looked down to face the kid, all his anger was drained as he stared at that damn kid. Who, even with cuts and bruises littered across every visible part of his body, could still look like a ray of sunshine.

But of course, he couldn’t tell Peter that.

“Kid,” did he say ‘kid’ again? “why am I not surprised?” it wasn’t the tone of indifference that he had grown to hate with his own father, but one of endearment as a side to sarcasm. Which was his screwed up way of affection (Eugh. _Feelings_).

“Cause your Botox disables you from expressing any emotion.” Damn, he’s good. <strike>So proud.</strike> Smirking to mask the relief he felt, he played along with the banter.

“I’m disappointed in you, Parker. I thought you’d know by know that this,” Tony motioned to his face, “Is all real.”

They could’ve continued like that, both were very much skilled in that area of expertise. And if they did, they wouldn’t have to face the rest of the team. But of course, Sam had to go and ruin it.

“Uh, Stark?” bird man cut the banter short. “Hate to break up, _whatever this is_, but who the hell is this kid?”

He really wanted to slap the man. Running an exasperated hand along his (was this grease?) stained face, he groaned before turning sharply on his heel to face the others.

“You would know if you had bothered to introduce yourself instead of trying to kill him.” His tone was cool and flat, trying to convey the message that they should stop pressing while they’re ahead. Of course, not everyone got the message.

“We weren’t trying to kill him!” Spangles exclaimed, waving his arms around like he didn’t know what do with them.

“Yah, _we _weren’t.” Nat interjected. “But you were the one who went straight for the neck.” Emphasizing her point by gesturing over to the dented elevator door.

Once again, the man was dumbstruck. Stumbling over his words as he struggled to find the right thing to say. He stuttered a bit longer before dropping his arms to his sides in defeat.

Tony hoped that they would stop asking, but as it turns out, some were more persistent.

“That still doesn’t give us a name. Or an explanation.”

He grimaced at Barnes’s words, questioning his choice to share the tower with super spies and assassins. Straightening himself out, he glared at the disheveled man before briskly stepping forward to <strike>shield the kid</strike> better face the group.

“He’s my personal intern, since you wanted to know so badly. Has been working with me for a while. About 2 years? Great kid, very trustworthy. Now can you please, for the love of god, get him out of there!”

He hadn’t realized he had raised his voice until Rhodes placed a hand on his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he stepped off to the side to allow for some one to step up to the task.

Wanda rushed forward, keeping her head down as she passed Tony, meekly muttering an apology. He spared her a sympathetic glance, knowing full well that she was just taking the defensive in the heat of the fight. He didn’t hold her to blame.

Raising her scarlet-lit hands once more, she made a grasping motion in the air as the same swirling mist spread across the cushions.

He felt a slight twinge of worry at the thought of Peter being beneath all that magic and the chance that he could be caught in the cross fire.

Once she seemed to find a grip, she crossed her fists before quickly breaking the X, sending the pillows flying in all directions. He heard the distinct sound of one of the projectiles making contact with a bystander (probably Sam from the ‘choice words’ that followed.

Tony didn’t care about anything else, though, as he instantly closed the gap between him and the kid, helping him to his feet even though he obviously didn’t need it.

“You okay? Anything broken?” he still held firm to his elbow even though he was steady on his feet.

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark.” He whined, pretending to be embarrassed by his concern. Though his eyes shined with gratitude. Once he was sure he was truly okay, he let his usual formalities take over.

“Are you sure? Nothing I can kiss better?” At this, Peter paused, flushed cheeks turning a slightly darker shade that only Tony could see. Desperate for a way to redirect the situation, he turns to Wanda who has been awkwardly standing off to the side during this exchange.

“U-um, thanks for, you know, not suffocating me and, um, getting me out and stuff…” by now he was nervously rubbing the back of his neck, hesitantly looking her in the eyes after finding nowhere else to look.

She gave him a rueful smile, amused by his fidgeting. They stayed like that before Peter widened his eyes in realization, fumbling to stick his hand out to the girl.

“I-I’m Peter, by the way.” She gazed at his hand like he was offering a human heart, clearly startled by the sudden change of pace. But she quickly got over her shock, daintily taking his hand and shaking it slightly. Like she was afraid it might break beneath her touch.

“I’m Wanda.” The timidness in her voice ebbing away the longer they talked.

“Your magic is really cool.” He blurted, the kid as unfiltered as ever. At first, she was taken aback, unprepared for the compliment, but by now she was already warming up to his antics. She looked about ready to respond, but before their beautiful friendship could unfold any further, Steve, unfortunately, got over his silent spell, choosing now to take back the reins of the conversation.

“So, Peter,” he coaxed, talking down to him like a parent to a toddler. “how do you know Tony?”

The moment that Rogers addressed the kid, _his _kid, Tony felt an undeniable urge to protect him from all that the Ex-Avengers had to offer. Treating him like a dog with the car keys. Sweet-talking until they get what they want from him, then leaving him once he’s useless. No. He had had his share of two-faced asshats, worming their way into his trust before taking what they want and leaving broken pieces behind them. He won’t let it happen to the most pure and undeserving of people.

“We met,” he interrupted, “through the September foundation. Remember that? Had an outstanding résumé. Even more impressive IQ. Should’ve seen it. It was like looking into a mini-mirror. Except, less ‘billionaire playboy’ more ‘genius philanthropist’. Well that’s all the time we have for questions, so if you don’t mind…”

The Captain glared up at Tony, straightening out into his full height so that he was towering over him. Although his expression he remained indifferent, inside he was fearfully aware how easily he could tear into him. Only his time, it wouldn’t be with the suit.

“I’m only trying to talk to the kid. I have every right to be the least bit curious after finding out that you’ve been hiding him from us for _2 years._” He was on the verge of growling, his eyes dared him to retaliate. Of course, Tony Stark was never one for self preservation.

“And I have every right to refuse you that right. And while we’re on the topic of secrets, you of all people should know their essentiality in protection.” He knew he had struck a nerve with the Captain when he flinched at his words, painful memories brought to light. The hurt turned to anger when he stepped even closer, chin almost touching his chest as he glared down at Tony. Said man was fighting not to cripple beneath his piercing gaze. This was for Peter. And if he ended up with another shield in his chest, then so be it.

“You can’t keep pushing us away! And you can’t keep using that as a drive between the team! I mean, you’ve managed to have a kid in the time we were gone! A little hypocritical, don’t you think?!”

“And so what if I did?! That’s a minor offence compared to the shit you pulled! Do you honestly see me as the reason your little dream-team went so sour?!” his volume had escalated to rival even that of Rogers, but he didn’t care. The blonde sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“Tony,” he huffed, his voice laced with exhaustion. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. For all you know he’s just some glorified intern with an Iron Man complex. I’m worried that-” but his speech was cut off by Tony who had reached a whole new level of pissed.

“YOU”RE WORRIED?! Were you _worried _when you did what you did in Siberia?! Tell me, did you regret _anything_? Did you feel any guilt or remorse after you left to me to _die_ in a frozen waste land with no suit and no ride home?!” Steve visibly paled at the mention of Siberia. They had not told anyone about what happened. Well, except for Peter.

“I-It wasn’t like that.” He retorted, angry tone losing its edge, “you were gonna kill Bucky!”

“And why was that Cap?!” Tony stepped closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Maybe I wouldn’t have if I had known earlier, instead of finding out from some Zemo freak!”

“What does this have to do with Pete-”

“DON’T.” he shouted. Like if by saying his name again, it would be tainted. “The point his, that _kid _has been there for me in ways you failed to be. He’s not just some shallow, obsessive fan boy, Rogers, he is 3000 times more than that. The point is that he _cares_. And he’s with me till the end of the line.” Steve froze at this. Of course he did. How the hell did he know him and his little friend’s secret passcode or whatever. Well that was his own secret.

“I’ve done a lot for you, for all of you. I don’t hold any one person responsible for that ‘Civil War’. But if you _ever_ try to hurt, manipulate, or do anything with bad intentions, you’re out.”

“GUYS!” Bruce yelled over the two men yelling. All heads whipped around to face him, but this time, he didn’t back down.

“The kid’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heLLO everybody. My name is <strike>Markiplier</strike> ParaCipher and welcome back to the story! I kinda had to rush the ending a bit so that I could get started on chapter5, but I hope it's good all the same. The next few chapters will be about Peter being introduced to a new person while each have them have their suspicions on Peter and his strange abilities. God give me patience and you enough filler so that you don't realize how much of a procrastinator I am. <strike>Bye!</strike> <strike>See yah!</strike> <strike>Signing off!</strike> <strike>Until next time!</strike> <strike>Adios!</strike> Just... bye.


	5. Мама Паук

-NATASHA-

She had seen it.

The way Tony looked at him

A love so deep and profound and unconditional that Nat almost felt jealous she had never been on the other end of it.

She had grown up starved of affection and any and all sympathy. The Red Room had offered her none of the frivolities of _compassion._ Without a family to call her own, she had lived her life apathetic and detached. But then Fury found her and gave her something better. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a home, but she would survive. But as bigger threats emerged, she had found herself thrown into a make-shift family of ‘heroes’ that was nothing short of dysfunctional.

It had peeved her at first, to be expected to make an instant connection with these _people._ It helped to have a friendly face in Clint, but she still had to deal with not only hers, but everyone else’s trauma. But after New York and the invasion, she had found a sense of comfort and familiarity in their numerous odds and ends. A team of misfits as Stark called it.

And Natasha didn’t have the sense to disagree.

But with all families, there came disagreements. Childish spats turned to major disputes and although she tried to stay out of it, becoming the designated voice of reason between them all, the ending product was painfully clear.

As more and more people joined, more and more opinions entered the mix and soon, there was an unspoken division amongst them. But at the end of the day, they were still a team. They were still family.

But then came the Accords and along with it, the War. Lines were drawn and sides were chosen. And the relationships they had built were torn down, reduced to broken pieces.

Laying low had been the hardest thing. Becoming attached only for it all to fall apart. She had wanted nothing more than to go back home, for the team to forgive and forget like they once had, but the scars were too deep for a simple apology.

But then Stark went and surprised them again. After their pardon, he invited them back to the Tower. Back home. And Natasha couldn’t have been happier.

When they arrived, Tony had welcomed them with dazzling smiles and open arms, but it was but it felt off. She yearned for the familiarity they had before, but there was no going back.

The broken pieces had been stitched back together, whole, but not the same.

Over the course of their stay, he acted distant, distracted. Everyone brushed it off as nerves, but she had had too much training to not notice the difference. He was never as animated and involved as before. Sure, he still joked and teased, showed up when expected, contributed when needed. Yet he always stayed away when he could. Cooping himself up in his lab for hours on end, only making an appearance when he needed a coffee refill or when he raided the pantry for inhuman amounts of snacks (almost as much as Steve…).

But Nat let him have his secrets, knowing full well the damage they could wrought. As long as it made him happy, she was satisfied.

So when Peter had showed up out of the blue, claiming to be with Stark, and said man coming out and _confirming _that fact, she wasn’t all that surprised. Yes, she had questions (enough to make a full-blown interrogation). But the exchanges between the two, the tensionless banter, the loving looks and knowing stares, was proof enough that this was more than some intern.

The kid couldn’t care more about the man, and Tony looked ready to die for him.

And Natasha ached for that kind of unconditional love.

But then the arguing started.

And then it got loud.

But one quick glance at Peter and she could tell it was even _louder._

His hands were clawing at his ears; turning a scathing red she didn’t want to think about. Hunched over and slightly shaking, his face had turned a colorless pale and his eyes squeezed so tightly shut that she half believed they would stay like that. As the volume continued to escalate, the pain in his expression continued to worsen.

No one seemed to notice his severe discomfort (or the small whimpers that escaped from his lips). Although he looked to be struggling to keep it together, a singer traitorous tear slipped out, sliding down his now paper white cheeks.

It was torturous to watch.

And then something snapped.

His eyes snapped open, wild with fear but with a hint of determination, as his body instantly stiffened. Muttering something she couldn’t quite read, he took a few cautious steps back.

Natasha thought he might make a run for it, but instead, he soundlessly leapt high, too high, into the air. Twisting his body with an acrobatic skill that even she didn’t have, he hit the ceiling. Her breathe caught in her throat at the thought of the 10 foot drop the kid was about to face, but instead of falling, he stuck. Effortlessly clinging to the ceiling like a, a spider…

Well. That answered one of her questions.

Pressing himself close to the underside of the smooth plaster, he waited for someone to call him out. But accessing the situation from where she stood, Nat could tell that no one was paying him any piece of mind, and the fight wasn’t going to end anytime soon.

When no one noticed his sudden disappearance, he scrambled over to a near-by vent, still without notifying anyone of his location. Her she started to see spots as the glaring fluorescents above made it almost impossible to see Peter, but by now, she knew the kid had made his escape.

And so would she.

Taking advantage of the shadows casted by the dim lights, she skillfully slipped away from the argument. Making sure to be out of sight and out of ear shot before speaking.

“FRIDAY, where’s the kid now?” she asked, needing to find him above all else.

“I am not authorized to tell you his whereabouts.”

She frowned at this.

“And why is that?” she demanded.

“I am restricted by protocol from sharing any information pertaining to Mr. Parker with anyone other than those permitted.”

“What protocol?”

“The ‘Invisibility Cloak’ protocol.”

Huh. She never would’ve pinned Tony for the Harry Potter type. Then again…

“Stark came up with that one?”

“Actually, Mr. Parker insisted on it.”

Ah. Makes more sense. Him and Wanda were gonna get along just fine since she _was_ the one to force the team to watch all 8 movies in one sitting.

But Natasha still had to find the kid, make sure he wasn’t having a panic attack in some secluded air duct.

“Look FRI, I know your not one to go against your coding, but god knows those two are still at each other’s throats even now and the kid sure as hell didn’t look too peachy when he left.”

She sighed, still unbelieving of the fact that she was bartering with a computer.

“All I’m saying is, I just wanna help him. I already know his secret, what’s the worst that could happen?”

FRIDAY was quiet, pausing as if mulling her words over in her metaphorical head. Before Nat could give up and try locating him another way, the AI speaks up again.

“He has not left the premises though he is not currently inside the Tower.”

_‘The roof’ _she concluded immediately, remembering the direct access the vents offered to the more ‘off limit’ part of the terrace.

Quickly locating the nearest vent panel above, she ran up to the wall. Stepping off it like a spring board, she launched herself at the ceiling. Grasping the light fixtures above and forcefully swinging right through the grate before finding herself in the familiarity of the ventilation.

After that, it was all mindless. Instinctively make her way through the identical air ducts before ending up in the suspiciously grate-less roof access.

Pulling herself from the metal housing unit, Nat silently tread across the graveled roof tops to the silhouetted figure sitting with his legs dangling over the streets of Manhattan.

Although she was stealthily quiet (one of her many skill sets), his head whipped around the moment she came within 20 feet of him. Upon seeing her, he grew rigid, face flushing an inhuman shade of scarlet.

“O-oh! U-u-um, Mrs. W-widow, ma’am. I-I d-didn’t mean t-to um, I-I-” but before he could continue to flounder, she briskly held up a hand to silence him.

In a few lengthy strides, she closed the gap between her and the kid.

Once she reached the edge of the roof, she got down and sat down next to him. Feeling his timid eyes on her though refusing to meet them, she took in a deep breath, the smells of the city giving her some comfort, before speaking.

“Are you okay?”

The question must have caught him by surprise because all his stuttering from before left his expression, leaving him simply confused.

“Um, yeah, I guess?”

“Are you sure?” she raised an eyebrow at him quizzically, tilting her head slightly to see him better in her peripheral vision. “I saw the little stunt you pulled.”

The nervousness came rushing back at the mention of his breakdown from earlier.

“O-oh, it’s, u-um, nothing really! I just, uh, n-needed some air…”

She nodded, lips pressed firmly together.

“And the ceiling?”

If his eyes didn’t resemble that of a doe, he truly embraced the whole ‘dear in headlights’ expression. He turned back to the city skyline, adamant on not facing Nat for a while. Eyes falling down to his hands tightly clasped in his lap, he spoke with at looking her way.

“Oh.” He said quietly. “You saw that?”

<strike>Cute</strike>

She leaned back, propping herself up on outstretched hands.

“Kid, I’m surprised that no one else did. There were at least 2 spies, a super soldier, and an actual computer.”

The corners of his mouth twitched a bit. It was a start.

“But I don’t really care that you’re Spiderman.” She paused. “You are Spiderman, right?”

He nodded meekly. She continued.

“Right. But that’s not what I’m hung up about. I just wanna make sure you’re okay. You looked ready to pass out in there.”

His head snapped up in her direction, unprepared for the sudden change of pace. He didn’t talk at first, but if he was anything like Stark, he would. So she waited. And not that long, too. He was facing her head on at this point before explaining.

“I… ever since I got my powers, I’ve had to handed having these senses that are like, dialed up to 11.”

She nodded, signaling for him to continue.

“And it’s really helpful most of the time. But sometimes, everything just, gets to me, you know?”

She didn’t, but she could sympathize.

“Everything just gets so loud and painful, like there was a filter on the world and someone just tore it down. And it’s not like I can just cover my ears because even then, I can still hear traffic halfway across the city and, it’s just hard, I guess.”

He looked like he was done, so Natasha decided to fill in the blanks.

“Sensory overload.”

He turned back to her bewildered.

“W-what?”

‘That’s what it’s called. Cap gets them all the time, in big crowds or too-bright rooms and the like.”

His expression flashed with recognition.

“Usually, it’ll pass. But when it’s real bad, one of us ‘ll take him down to the training room. Get a few good licks on a bag or just go at it with each other. Cause when you let all your pain out on something that can take it, there’s not much left to hurt you. Understand?”

Peter, who was now staring at her intrigued, slowly nodded.

“Next time this happens, I want you to come find me. I’ll introduce you to the ring.” With that said, she stood up. Brushing the gravel from her sweats, she started away before he called back to her.

“Wait! Are you gonna, um, tell the others cause I’d rather it be, you know-”

“I wasn’t planning on telling anyone, Паучок.”

She left satisfied as the kid tried to make sense of what she just called him, but being the smart kid he is, he’ll figure it out.

______________________________

“So, Spiderman?” questioned Nat once Peter had officially left the build without any further complications (she had made sure of it). She had sought out Tony who had buried himself in his lab after the whole debacle had blown over. He had obviously not been expecting her because he nearly fell out of his seat when she spoke.

“Jesus, Nat! You should’ve- wait, how’d you…? Never mind you can’t tell anyone or I swear to God I’ll-”

But his threat was cut off as she chuckled lightly before slipping back out the door, unheard.

He stood there dumbfounded before rearing his suspicion on FRIDAY.

“Did you tell her?”

If a computer could sound amused, the AI sure as hell pulled it off.

“She questioned me about his whereabouts after his untimely departure.”

“But that goes against your programing!” he whined.

“I was programmed not to give out his current location; I simply told her where he wasn’t.”

“Bad girl, going behind my back like that.”

“I apologize for underestimating Mrs. Romanoff’s deductive reasoning.”

“Smart ass.”

______________________________

_*BONUS*_

-PETER-

He had been up for hours, but he didn’t plan on sleeping anytime soon. He needed to know. And if he had to face the exhaustion in the end, he could live with that.

After spending much time rough-translating on google, he found what he was looking for.

**_ Паучок_** _ \- **Spidey** _

_/Pauchok/ / Spīdər/ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is! This will be the start of each characters introduction to Peter. I really enjoy all the 'Mama Spider' tropes and wanted to take part. I don't know for sure, but I'm pretty set on doing each intro chapter by chapter with the next one maybe being either Clint or Bruce. Can't decide. Hopefully I get it figured out soon. But guys! Wow! Way to make me feel welcome!(srsly no sarcasm in that) I can't wait to continue this! I have so many great plans for where to lead it and I hope yall stick around to see the outcome! (or the potential train wreck) Anyways, thx so much! Until next time. with great loneliness comes great fan fiction...


	6. New Beginnings

-BRUCE-

He had noticed the kid was gone the minute he left (though how he didn’t know, him being, at the time, too preoccupied with the soon to be Civil War II).

Bruce didn’t say anything at first, thinking he probably just wanted to get out from the center of the argument. But as the fighting began to veer towards a more ‘hands-on’ alternative, he decided up until that point was as good a time as any to break it up.

“Guys.” He started out quietly, not exactly keen on all the attention his interjection was sure to bring. No one reacted. 

“Guys!” Okay. He might have turned a couple heads (Rhodey looked his way for a split second and he thought he saw Bucky flinch), but it still didn’t do much.

Sucking up the little self-esteem he had (key word:  _ little _ ), he succumbed to his fate and shouted at the top of his lungs, turning them raw.

“GUYS!” Fortunately , before he ultimately gave up on his quest for attention, the rest of the team finally turned to hear him out. 

Not waiting to evidentially  crack under the room - full of gazes upon him, he spat out the rest of his bit.

“The kid’s gone.” 

This of course, meant nothing to the others.

But hearing this, Tony immediately stiffened. Unbelieving eyes scanned the room searching for some form of proof that Bruce was wrong. Once he came to the conclusion that Peter was, in fact, nowhere to be found, he turned back to face the confusion of the others only to meet them with steely determination.

“Don’t follow me .” Was all he gave them before dashing out of the living room and straight into the waiting elevator.

No one else noticed the faltering crack in his voice, nor the gaunt look in his eyes.

If they did, no one mentioned it. Or questioned it.

In Tony’s absence, those left behind  came out of their initial shock, also taking in the sudden absence of the mysterious intern.

Vision was the first to voice his thoughts on the matter.

“That was a bit strange, was it not?” he stated , his words as always laced with a metallic edge.

“What, Stark or the kid?” Sam retorted, picking up a controller only to un-pause the game and attack Clint’s dormant  character. 

Said blonde made no move to stop him, instead clamoring up on top of the fridge. Rifling through an adjacent cabinet that he had claimed long ago for his stash of food.

“A room full of trained spies, soldiers, assassins,  one nerd,” Bruce rolled his eyes, “and… whatever Vision is,” he gestured in the “man’s” direction, in return he shrugged in ignorance.

“And some random teenager is able to just slip by without us noticing!” Arms now full of snacks, he carelessly jumped back down, stopping only to pick up a fallen pack of Oreos.

“There was something going on between Peter and Tony.” Wanda noted, hinting to some sort of conspiracy , “Intern just doesn’t seem right.”

“ Maybe he’s his kid?” Offered Bucky, catching the small pouch of juice thrown his way by Clint. When he raised a questioning eyebrow, the spy simply brushed it off.

“ Caprison .” He explained. “I’m not a fan of Kiwi Strawberry. Anyways, we would’ve known if he was hiding a kid from us for what, 14 years?”

“15.” Rhodey corrected.

Clint ignored him, in turn rationing out the rest of the rejected juice. Tossing one to each of the present team members.

Sam, now aware of the hand-outs, whined from his spot of the couch.

“Hey, what about me?!”

“You don’t get one because you’re a cheater.” The archer jeered, sticking his tongue out in his direction. He then turned to Bruce, seemingly offering him a pouch of his own.

“N-no, I’m good.” He declined, “Too much sugar.” (Though, he would never admit that the real reason was because he could never stick the straw. Tony, being the only one who knew, was the one to buy the juice in the first place as an unspoken threat of blackmail. Speaking of which…)

“I’m going to follow him.” He said aloud, turning away from the kitchen in search of the elevator.

“I’m coming with you.” Steve finally spoke, already walking towards the doctor. Normally, this would be fine.  _ Normally  _ the sudden tag-along wouldn’t bother him. But he had caused enough damage as it was.

“No.” Although he kept is expression indifferent, inside he was just as shocked by his words as everyone else. Even more than the Captain himself, who was staring at him, agape, with a mixture of disbelief and exasperation.

He usually tried to stay out of most confrontations, choosing instead to go around them or flat out avoid them altogether. The aggravation and hostility being too much for him to handle. No  point in risking a code green. So, this sudden spark of confidence wasn’t exactly expected of him.

Not only that, but the great Captain America was not one to go against. Sure, he was a good man and all, but he would do what he saw fit and may God take pity in any who stood in his way. They wrote a song about it and everything! 

While the others had brushed off the previous argument like any other squabble between them, Steve had stood sulking, having taken the argument too much to heart. 

Him and Tony had been on thin ice since his arrival, carefully skirting around uncomfortable subjects and mindfully staying on each other's good side. Although the events of Siberia remained a secret for them, they didn’t need context to know something had went down.

Bottled up distain and resentment had been let lose in a flurry of spiteful jabs and off-handed remarks. And from the look in Rogers eyes, he wasn’t finished yet.

But if Bruce had anything to say about it, he was.

Rearing around to face the other man, he decided he would stick up for his science bro friend if it meant he went down in the process.

“ I don’t know what you were expecting, but when someone walks away from fight, it means you  _ drop it.” _

Steve took an intentionally intimidating step towards Bruce , straightening out his posture so that  he would look that much bigger than his already towering stature. Although he knew the Captain would never  _ actually  _ hurt him, he was doing a damn good job  acting like he would.

“Bruce,” he reprimanded,  his stern tone betraying his neutral expression , “ Yo u  and I both know that Tony-”

“No, Steve. You listen to me. You may not realize it, but Tony is under a lot of pressure right now what with the Accords and taking care of all of you.” Clint looked ready to protest but he didn’t stop, “Not to mention he has to be the face of a multi-million-dollar enterprise on the side!”

He took a steadying breath to calm his ecstatic nerves before continuing.

“No one has rebounded back as much as him but you can’t rely on that every time! You being hard on him isn’t helping either. No matter how much he acts like it, he isn’t a robot. So for the love of god, treat him like a human and give him some space for once!”

Not waiting  for a response, he stormed into the open elevator . Catching a (admittedly satisfying) glimpse of the  hanging jaws of the others before coming face-to-face with closed doors.

Once he was out of sight, Bruce let himself sag against the cooling walls, clenching and unclenching his hand in order to keep his emotions under control. But he wasn’t worried about going green. He was more concerned about the rush of adrenaline coursing through him.

Tightly gripping his wrists to quell the shaking, he willed to blood to drain from his most likely crimson head,  not wanting to take any chances of passing out from  strain.

He knew his actions would be forgiven, considering some choice members of the team had done considerably worse. But  it wasn’t forgiveness he s ought. 

No.  Even though his outburst would be water under the bridge soon enough . But after that…

There was no coming back from that.

________________________________

It had been 2 days before Bruce saw Peter again.

When going to check up on Tony that night (he had found him in a delirious exhaustion in his lab, slumped over an alarmingly clear work table surrounded by scattered remnants of machinery with an almost empty pot of coffee), he had asked no questions about the kid nor the mans ’ physical state. He simply pored himself the rest of the pot and sat down next to the man, no words exchanged.

He knew Tony was not one to  go and profess his feelings, so he let him be. Slowly letting him  warm up to talking in his own time. When he finally spoke, he was obviously a lot calmer than before. Body not wracked with tremors and instead leaning back on the work bench, chest rising and falling in exaggerated (yet much needed) breaths.

"You didn't have to come." He rasped.

"I know." He responded smoothly. "But I wanted to."

They were both going to be okay.

Now, Bruce found himself dwindling in the same lab yet again. Roaming around from assorted shelf’s and tables in search of something helpful. His half-baked brain running on auto pilot while his thoughts wandered elsewhere.

The Tower had been oddly silent  the past few days, seeing that Tony and Steve weren’t all that fond of each other at the current moment .  Sure, they weren’t actively trying to kill one another, but they weren’t ‘totes besties’ either.

And Tony had been pretty ‘hush-hush’ about Peter (much to the annoyance of the others). To their knowledge he hadn’t come in today nor yesterday (unless he did, and he was really sneaky about it, which wouldn’t be too weird considering he had done before). So, with Cap and crew staying away for the time being and Tony doing...  _ whatever he was doing _ , Bruce had the main labs to himself.

Or so he though.

For just a second later, someone came crashing through the doorway behind him. And from the sounds of it, taking a pretty bad spill on their way in.

In a startling moment, he whipped around to face the victim of Tony’s careless project placement. He was greeted with a familiar mop of curly brown hair buried in the tile, the contents of his backpack spilling this-way and that.

Slowly, Peter peeled himself off of the no-doubt grime covered floor, grumbling as he picked himself and his possessions off of the ground. He got a good 5 seconds in before he noticed the scientist’s presence. His previously casual demeanor changed to that of a deer in headlights (doe-like eyes completely selling the look).

“O-o-oh! D-d-um, Dr. Banner!” he squeaked! Cheeks growing increasingly redder with each added syllable.

“Hello, Peter.” He responded. Purposely ignoring the nervous stammering and instead, handing him the small stack of assembled papers.

“Th-u um, thanks.” He took the papers from him but didn’t move to but them in his bag, to busy turning those <strike>too fucking adorable</strike> eyes on him in absolute awe.

“I can’t believe it’s you.” He said awkwardly, his previous stutter completely gone from his voice (for now…) .

Bruce sighed. He knew this would happen, it was always expected, but it didn’t make it any less uncomfortable. Guiltily rubbing the back of his neck, he responded, “ Yah, I’m, I’m the Hulk.”

He breathed out a stiff laugh as to lighten the mood.

It didn’t help.

He never understood why so many looked up to the other guy, what with the destructive and unstable carriage. Not to mention his frightening death toll. H e was afraid of coming in contact with anyone or anything, feeling as though they would be crushed in his grip. H e was a monster, both parts of him, and he could never be anything more.

But now the kid looked more confused th a n he did awestruck, like he was having a completely different conversation entirely.

“Um, yah I guess that too, but I was talking about how amazingly innovative your report on the electromagnetic radiation from natural occurring radioscopes and the a and  [ β ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beta_particle) particle decay it causes. I totally read it like, 5 times! It was so interesting when you went into  detail about nuclear isomers and their isomeric transitions, but I also liked the section on the involvement of the intermediate metastable excited state of the nuclei. I was really-”

Bruce cut the rambling kid off by grabbing him firmly by the shoulders, still in shock by what he was hearing.

“Wait, you actually  _ understood  _ that?! Even Tony had a hard time keeping up!”

“I mean, Mr. Stark said it was because he didn’t have enough caffeine in his system to concentrate, but I don’t know...”

“And you have absolutely no interest in the Hulk whatsoever.”

“Well, it’s cool that he’s an Avenger and that he saves lives and all that, but he was the product of science! Your science! I was a fan of you before you got all... you know,” he made a grabbing motion with his hands over his head.

“Wow kid,  that’s... ”

“What?” Peter asked  sincerely .

“Nothing.” he finished,  draping an arm around his shoulders and leading him to one of the cluttered tables he had been working on. “What do you say you help me out with a little project I’ve been working on? As extra credit for your ‘internship’?

The gob smacked expression that filled up the kids’ entire face made Bruce lean over and affectionately ruffle the forever messy mop of hair.

And for once, he wasn’t afraid of hurting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'M aLiVe!!  
I am so sorry this took so long! I've been trying to write on my phone but that's just turned out to be an excuse to do nothing so... yah. I WILL be more consistent once I get my utterly fabricated life (partially) together!  
Also, Frozen 2?!  
What?! Olaf is more mature than I am and I'm slightly concerned.  
And also, wow. There is so much emotional baggage and I feel like were all forgetting this is a kids movie I need a therapist after watching this.  
Next Chapter: Clint? ¯\\_(.-.)_/¯


	7. Yoga Bros'

-CLINT- 

There was a thief among them. 

A no good, despicable, cold-blooded thief. 

And he was going to flush him out. 

Snacks had gone missing from his stash in the cabinet. He had purposely claimed it as his own in hopes that the impossible height would deter anyone from breaking in, but he obviously misjudged his teammates determination. 

As Clint elbowed his way through the ventilation, he made a mental list of every possible suspect. 

Obviously, it couldn’t be Vision seeing as couldn't eat, unless he did it as a favor. But the only person he would be willing to help would be Wanda, who just as easily could've gotten it herself. So yes, she was a possibility. 

Then again, she wasn’t the snack burglar kind of person (and she was more of an organic type), so Wanda was a no. 

Rhodes and Bruce were also counted innocent seeing neither of them cared enough to go out of their way to take any and because they were short as hell (admittedly, he was of pretty small stature as well, but he had skills on his side or he would've put his stuff up so high). 

Barnes and Nobel were too old to appreciate modern day ‘food-in-a-bag' (as they called it), but they still didn’t say no when offered. But it was pretty unlikely. 

Nat despised the stuff, but that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t take any just to spite him. So, she was considered. 

All things considered, though, the two most likely suspects would be Sam and Tony, seeing as they had a just as immature palate as him (though, he wouldn’t call his taste immature, he just enjoyed any and everything that came in unnecessary plastic packaging). 

Either way, he planned on catching the culprit tonight before any more stockpile got stolen. 

Clint stopped at the vent grate, careful not to make any sound in warping the thin yet reinforced metal of the air ducts. Through the metal slits he could clearly see the kitchen, though it was too dark to distinctly make anything out. 

Every other night or so, his stash was hit. When he tried to stake out the culprit, they would never show. Seemingly knowing of his processes. For 3 day’s straight, he had been scoping out from the vents, unseen and unheard. And every time, they showed. And tonight, Clint was sure they would. 

Then he heard it. 

The unmistakable sound of crinkling plastic and the crunching that followed. 

He had them now. 

Launching himself from the ceiling with a bang, the archer let out a startling whoop, catching the perp off guard. They, in turn, shrieked in surprise which was followed by an audible “thud”. 

“FRIDAY, lights!” immediately, the lights flicked on, revealing an empty kitchen. The only indication of anyone else in the room being the muffled groans from behind the obstructing counter. 

He, giddy with excitement, hastily jumped the island. Hoping to find Nat, Sam, or even the Caffeine-addicted mechanic sprawled gracelessly on the floor. 

He did find something of Stark’s, all right. But not at all what he had been expecting. 

“Peter?!” he squawked as he almost slipped of the counter, brain still trying to process this new revelation. 

Sure enough, the bright-eyed bushy-tailed intern from only a few days earlier was stretched out on the tile, body stiff with pain from the no-doubt hard fall he had just taken. 

Clint grimaced at the scene, guilt creeping in at the pained expression he made as he sat up, propping himself up on one hand while he tried to regain his bearings. 

“Kid, what are you doing?” he continued, offering him his hand in a subtle attempt to make up for what he had done. But his unsporting was full, clenched around the protruding corners of plastic wrapping... 

“Wait, _you’re _the one who’s been eating my stuff?!” 

The kid’s head shot up in bewilderment. 

“Your stuff?!” he then glared harshly at the floor, mumbling to himself. “I swear to god, Mr. Stark…” 

“What about Stark?” he asked, truly intrigued by what the man had to do with this. 

“He’s the one that told me.” He then scrambled to his feet, holding his hands up in defense 

“N-not that I knew it was yours! A-actually, um, I-it's...it’s really stupid. _ God... _ ” he laughed off at the self-degrading comment, “I-it’s just that, he, um, sorta told me it was _ for everybody… _” 

Of course. 

“So, Tony sent you off to do his dirty work, huh?” 

He awkwardly gripped the back of his neck, looking up at him timidly. 

“I, um, I guess. I-I'm really sorry, by the way. If I had known, I would never have-” 

Clint huffed in amusement. He could see why the kid had managed to gain the adoration of Tony. Although he was apparently smarter than the genius himself, he lacked all of the billionaire's sense of ego. Apologetic enough for the both of them. That self-esteem he would have to work on, though. 

“You’re fine.” he reassured the flustered teen, “What I want to know is how you managed to reach them!” 

And in a conversation that couldn’t possibly get anymore awkward, it got worse. 

At the mention of Peter’s fridge-scaling feet, he choked on his breath, failing miss ably at hiding his bewilderment. 

“U-u-um, d-duh um, I-I…w-well y-you see…” his cheeks were growing increasingly red, his grip on the counter inhumanly tense. 

Clint waited patiently for his response as to not overwhelm him, knowing well enough not to rush these kinds of things (he’s a parent, what did you expect?). Though, he couldn’t understand why this would be so hard for him. l seeing as it was a simple question. Unless… 

“Are you a gymnast?” he asked earnestly. It would explain the (questionably impossibly) feat and his reluctance to tell him. 

Peter went stiff at the question, eyes darting off to the side before slowly trailing back to the awaiting archer. 

“Uhhhh...” 

*1 Hour Later* 

No. 

No. 

It couldn’t be. 

How was this possible? 

How could someone so lanky and meek… 

“Are we done?” Peter’s voice cut through his thoughts. Clint looked down on him, combing his fingers through his hair in astonishment. When The kid had owned up to doing gymnastics, they had immediately went to test it in the Avenger’s personal gym. 

And what he had to show did not disappoint. 

Not only had he breezed through a tumbling routine that could put Simone Biles to shame, conquered the bars and beams, and mastered the obstacle course, but he also was crazy flexible. 

They had gone through some of the most difficult yoga posses Clint could think of, and one after the other he started losing hope that the kid had any bones at all. 

He could hold himself up with one hand at a complete 95 degree angle. He could effortlessly pull his legs over his head, even going so far as lay completely flat in this position, executing a perfect Yoganidrasana (yoga sleep pose). The kid could even hold his balance on one foot for more than half an hour (he probably could’ve done longer if Clint hadn't thrown a towel at him). 

Peter was currently holding the splits for almost 15 minutes now, snacking on another pack of Little Bites Muffins while he stretched. He was given free reign over the concessions by Clint after their unlikely bond over their shared love of all things caffeinated and high fructose. 

“Yah, yah. Of course kid.” He finally responded. At his word, Peter jumped up from the mat, bending and straightening his no-doubt stiff legs. 

“How can you do that?” He breathed, honestly dumbfounded by the unexpected skill he possessed. Once again, his face tinted red as he stammered over his words. 

“I-I ugh, g-guess I was a-always flexible.” He sputtered. “And I um, practice down here a lot. W-with M-me. Stark’s permission of course!” He added hurriedly. 

“Sheesh, Pete. I’m pretty sure he won’t mind if you’re down here on your own.” 

He rubbed his arm embarrassed. “ Yah, well it’s because last time I almost killed myself so…” 

“On what?!” Looking around at the various treadmills and cycles and the like. The only thing that seemed to fit the mold would be the weights. 

But he simply nodded upwards towards the ceiling. 

“Oh no. No no. I’m not falling for that again. Did Nat put you up to this? Kid I though we were friends!” 

“ Um, do you mean Natasha? No, no. She, she didn’t- just… oh my god.” Peter rubbed an exasperated hand over his face. Then, without saying another word, he pointed upwards one final time. 

God, he knew this was a trap. But when he turned his gaze upwards he was surprised to find an entire obstacle course hanging from the ceiling. Bars and beams along with various pillars, posts, and other protruding objects littered the once clear (and cobwebbed) arch above. Extensive rope course lay stretched out among it all, dangling at impossible heights. 

“How did I not see that!” He squawked, mentally berating all of his so-called observation skills. 

“Wait, why is there? And how did you even reach it? How many hidden talents do you have?!” 

Peter tried to hide his blush with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“I think it’s for Spider-Man I guess? Mr. Stark wanted me to, to help out with it? Well I-I kinda slipped…off the ladder! T-the ladder that I was on and, um, yah.” He punctuated his statement by shoving his hands into is pockets. 

“ So what, Tones just grounded you from gym time? Also when did Spider-Man become involved?” 

He would look into this later, though, for he wasn’t done just yet making him squirm. “ So did he send you to time out? Don’t tell me he took away your juice box privileges?” His laughter got in the way of what he was trying to say, but he felt he was clear enough. 

“What, like he does with you? “ He snarked, not catching up with his words until after the archer erupted into hysterics. 

“W-wait! I-I didn’t-“ 

“I didn’t know you were a secret sass-master Pete! You really need to tell me these things!” 

He wiped away a fake tear after his laughter had died down, having lasted longer due to the others’ profuse blushing. Leaning back against the wall he started again. 

“Man. Stark seems pretty fond of you, kid. Don’t know how you managed it. But domestic looks good on him.” He spoke absentmindedly, voicing the thoughts he was pretty sure everyone on the team had as well. 

“Wait, what?” He turned around to Peter who had stopped stretching. 

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed!” Clint shook his head in amusement. “He’s practically adopted you! You know he never lets anyone else in his labs unsupervised. Including Rhodey. And Bruce! I tried going through the vents once.” He cringed for effect before moving on. “Heck, even Pepper has to manually override FRIDAY just to be let in! 

“So trust me, it’s hard to get in on that good side. But according to you, he lets you go crazy with his tech every other day! Not only that, but he’s constantly going_ on and on _about you! Apparently you’re some sort of genius? I don’t know.” 

“W-wait, Mr. Stark talks about me?” 

“Only in the conversations I, um, _ “overhear” _ . He actually hasn’t really told any of us anything. Wants to _ “respect your _ _ private life” _or whatever. By the way, I expect some answers from you later. Like I mean, I want an entire life story.” 

He only nodded absentmindedly, not really taking in the question. 

“Honestly, he’s pretty mad at Cap for roughing you up the other day. Sorry ‘bout that, by the way. But I mean, in a room full of trained kick-ass hero’s (some more paranoid than others), you can’t blame us if we react a little harshly. For all we know, you were sent to like, infiltrate and kill us or whatever. No hard feelings though, right?” 

Again Peter only nodded, still looking skeptical but not willing to press further.” 

“ Right, so anyways, Starks been pretty reclusive even before you popped up. I guess it has something to do with, uh, you know…” Clint gestured vaguely to emphasize his point. Though it was unexplained, the other understood. 

“I mean, I wasn’t a fan of it, either. But it’s just, the Accords were crazy! We saved thousands compared to what eight of happened if we had just sat back and done nothing!” Realizing he was dwelling off topic, he backtracked. “But moving on, what I’m trying to say is you’re defiantly more than an intern to him. And I suggest you stay at it cause you seem to be doing him some good. 

“ I mean, he looks ready to die for you. That takes something, man.” 

Peter stared up at him dumbfounded, floundering for words. When he couldn’t find his argument, his cheeks flushed deep red as he tried to dig a hole in the mat with his heel. Only spitting out a lame “Oh” before lapsing back into stunned silence. 

After a bit of nothing, he spoke again. 

“S-so, um….w-what now?” He asked instead, changing the undesired topic. 

Clint took a second to contemplate, trying to come up with something suitable to trail the awkward conversation the kid had just suffered through. 

“Netflix?” He finally suggested. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
It's me! The author who has been bold face lying to you this entire time.  
So sorry this chapter took so long. The breaks been pretty busy for me. I do promise from here on out, though, that I will be consistent in my writing. Also my emails been down and its been a real bitch trying to fix it. So Jaggedwing, srry again for the inconvenience!  
Stayed tuned my lovely listeners!


	8. Buck Be Baking (A Wanda Story)

  
-Wanda- 

  
  
She wasn’t there when it happened.   
  
She was halfway across the city cleaning up her own mess.   
  
But she knew.   
  
The minute it happened, instantaneously her entire reality stopped functioning, paralyzed without the presence of her brother’s being with her.   
  
Then without warning, her control gave out, letting way for a devastating surge of raw power. Pure anguish coursing through her veins as she screamed until her insides felt like bleeding.   
  
The utter decimation of her outburst contributed greatly to the defeat of Ultron, but to be honest, she only wished she could've become another victim of her carnage.   
  
So that she wouldn’t be on her own any longer than she had to.   
  
Since then, Wanda has learned to cope with the loss of Pietro. Though she would always feel as though she was only half of what she should be. The other members of the team made a point to become a great comfort in her life.   
  
Always aware of her demeanor and emotions. Making sure she knew she didn’t have to be any more than she wanted to be. It all came has pleasurable relief to know she wouldn’t be alone anytime soon.   
  
And although she truly wanted to get better, a bad day or painful dream would halt her in her recovery, regress her back to the stifling darkness that had swallowed her at the beginning. Consumed with guilt for all of the undeserved kindness she had been shown. In the darkness of her closet, she can let all of her troubles out, making sure FRIDAY doesn't notify any residents of the tower as to not bother anyone with her pain.   
  
The team thought she was okay, that she had recovered and had come to terms with where she stood. As long as they believed that, maybe one day she would be.   
  
She had just come from another tearful session in her closet, tea in hand, making her way to the helipad as to get some much needed fresh air. She would've stolen away to the roof instead if not for the fact that she had been caught last time she was up there. The 2-and-a-half hour lecture she had to endure from Rogers definitely deterring her from ever doing it again.   
  
The more people worried about her mental health, the more she wanted to break down and cry. But not today.   
  
She grabbed some petite cakes on her way past the kitchen. She had been indulging in more and more sweets lately ever since Bucky had discovered the Food Network and its large selection of baking shows (and he wasn’t that terrible either!)   
  
Before she was able to stuff one of the icing-dipped pastries into her awaiting mouth, she froze as she caught sight of a small figure already out on the landing, sitting on the concrete so that their legs dangled over the side.   
  
She was about to question FRIDAY about it when the mysterious intruder turned their head to the side, revealing them to only be Stark’s intern, Peter.   
  
This provided a whole bunchy of new problems, though. She hadn't encountered him since their unfortunate mishap all those weeks ago. Although he had seemed like the forgiving type at the time, who’s to say what he truly thought of her for attacking him like she did.   
  
Oh, wait. She could.   
  
But was she really willing to put herself through the blunt honesty of his opinions?   
  
Yes.   
  
Yes, she was.   
  
Swiping a few extra cakes, she magicked the glass doors open seeing as her hands were full.   
Even though he was a good 25 feet away and the wind was already starting to pick up, Peter somehow was able to hear the opening of the door.   
  
His head turned in her direction upon her stepping over the threshold, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face before he awkwardly jumped to his feet, waiting for her to be only a few feet away before speaking.   
  
“I-I’m sorry for, um, b-being out here! If you want or...” he gestured to the doors in place of finishing his sentence. Wanda waved it off.   
  
“No, no. It's quite alright. I actually came out here to speak with you.”   
  
“Oh! U-um, really? A-about what?”   
  
“Let us sit, I won't take long.”   
  
His body radiated nervousness as her plopped back down on to the edge. She, in turn, carefully seated herself next to him, cautiously swinging her feet a bit over the deadly drop.   
  
“It’s very dangerous of you to be out here.” she started, hoping to clear the tension before she got to the meat of her worries.   
  
“Not really.” he spoke without looking her way, instead staring intently out upon the stretch of glimmering buildings surrounding them. “In all honesty, the probability of someone tumbling over an exposed edge is actually lower than of someone going over a railing. It’s all about awareness.”   
  
Now that caught her off guard. Stark wasn’t exaggerating when he said he was smart as hell.   
  
“Cake?” She offered, holding out one of the treats for him to take.   
  
“Oh I um, actually already got one…” he said sheepishly, holding up a half eaten pastry to prove his point.” Mr. Barton said it was for everyone and that I excluded as everyone so.:. Yah.”   
  
“You’ve met Clint?” She asked, not really shocked, though, seeing as the archer was adamant about meeting the kid.   
  
“Yah! Oh, and also Dr. Banner and Ms. Romanov!”   
  
Everyone was already making their move. Quicker than expected.   
  
“It’s good you are getting to know everyone.” She nodded anxiously. Popping the last of the cakes in her mouth before getting to her point.   
  
“About that night, Peter…” his head cocked to the side in intrigue, which only made her urge to shut up and leave grow stronger. <strike>It’s like his eyes could stare into her soul.</strike>   
  
“I know I myself and the rest of the team are deeply sorry for the misunderstanding. We don’t regularly attack every civilian that makes their way into the tower. Though we have been banned from more than enough pizza delivery establishments…” she thought aloud, shaking her head clear before continuing. Her unease threatening to push back up the Petite Cakes though she fought through it.   
  
“I guess we all just act without thinking. I hope our incident doesn’t hinder our relationship. But seeing as I was a great contributor to the act, I understand if you’re forgiving.”   
  
The silence that followed was excruciating, agitating her stomach as nausea filled her throat. She dropped her gaze down to her lap to hide her reaction to his no-doubt harsh response.   
  
After a few moments more, and unexpected hand rested firmly on her shoulder, though it’s was gentle and comforting, the tension and strength could be felt, throwing her off guard from the meek and small demeanor Peter had been giving off.   
  
“It’s okay.” He spoke reassuringly. “I know you feel bad, but it really wasn’t your fault. You were just being cautious. I’m not going to hold a simple mistake against you. Besides, you were still holding back. Your natural instincts were to use pillows. You didn’t want to hurt me, just disarm.”   
  
Wanda looked up at his words in disbelief, his acceptance unlike any reaction she had ever received.   
  
“But it could have been anything!” She argued, trying to find a fault in his words. He didn’t get it. The possible outcomes could have been disturbing. "I could have seriously hurt You! I…”   
  
‘I could have killed you’ went unsaid, but the point was made clear. But she needed him to realize his mistake. That her powers were unstable and most of the time, lethal. That she couldn’t be trusted not to break down and destroy everything in a 10-mile radius. He shouldn’t be putting so much faith in her. He shouldn’t-   
  
“But you didn’t.” He retaliated. “I was 7 feet away from a 1095 grade knife block! You followed your instincts, which are of good intensions.”   
  
Now, it was her turn to stutter. “B-but, I-I’m dangerous! A-a-all I-I'm capable o-of, a-all I’m g-good f-f-for i-is hurting people!” Her breath was coming in short to her as she struggled to form more words. Her thoughts became erratic and immersive, overwhelming in a way that made her want to curl in on herself.   
  
He paused. Then, he carefully payed a hand on Wanda’s leg, squeezing it as to let her know he was there. His other hand went to her back, gently running small circles to ground her to reality.   
  
“Hey, um, can you hear me?” He questioned hesitantly, not wanting to make anything worse. “I know how these things can be so just, focus on my voice.”   
  
She tried to nod, to let him know she heard, but her body has started to shake so violently that the gesture went unnoticed.   
  
But by some miracle, he understood.   
  
“Okay, let’s try something.” The hand resting on her leg was slowly raised again, this time taking hers and pressing it to the concrete beneath them.   
  
“ Do you feel that?” He cooed softly. “ What does it feel like?”   
  
Peter was patient as Wanda struggled with her words, fighting herself as her thoughts turned darker, trying to pull her in.   
  
“C-c-co-old.” She croaked. Clenching her eyes shut to better focus on the sensation of contact and not the ever-consuming darkness within. “A-a-nd dir-t-ty.”   
  
She pinched the specks of dust and dirt with her fingers, rubbing it between her index and thumb, concentrating on each particle of grime. By now, her breathing had slowed and the shaking had let up, but not enough.   
  
But they had time.   
  
They say there for a good 35 minutes, him asking Wanda to describe their surroundings and her complying the best she could. The amount of yellow taxis below. The number of floors in the building across from them. The color of her shirt, the color of the sky, and just their favorite colors in general.   
  
When they ran out of things to look at (Peter’s sight apparently being far superior due to his knowledge of a hotdog stand a couple blocks down and a large black dog even farther down and so forth), they talked about themselves. Their likes and interest. Hobbies and pastimes. She found some reassurance knowing that he was just as much of a Harry Potter fanatic as she was, which was the topic they were currently on.   
  
“Have you ever noticed how housist everybody is? Like I went into Hot Topic the other day- stop laughing. I just like their T shirts. Anyways I went in and was looking through their Harry Potter accessories and not once did I ever find something for Slytherin! Actually, no. That’s not true. I found a Slytherin key fob. But that was like it! I mean, I get that it’s not common, but Everyone always pins me as a Ravenclaw cause I'm into, like, science and stuff. But honestly, I’m like a total Hufflepuff! I don't know why everyone sees that as a bad thing, though”   
  
He finished his argument, looking to Wanda for a response. Although he made sure she didn’t feel obligated to speak, she still felt like she should.   
  
“You do seem like the type.” She responded. After that, they both stayed silent, contently staring at the now setting sun. After a couple minutes, Peter spoke again, this time at almost a whisper.   
  
“You’re not dangerous.” He murmured.   
  
“W-what?” She was confused by his sudden statement.   
  
“You’re not dangerous,” he repeated. “Earlier, you said you were. But your not. Not to me.”   
  
Wanda couldn’t really say anything to that. So she turned away from Peter to look back at the sky. After so long if only being able to lean on herself, she had a feeling that wouldn’t last. Not for long. Maybe she had finally found her missing half. The one that had been lost along with her brother. She didn’t need to look into his thoughts to know this.   
  
“Thank you.”   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody:  
Me: *retreats into extensive blanket fort never to be seen again*
> 
> I've stopped trying.  
2 weeks max on chapter updates.  
*takes long sip of Caprison*  
Good Bye


	9. Don’t let Steve Near The Coffee Pot

-BUCKY- 

Waking up in cold sweat was never fun. 

Neither was the was the sleeping part, but Bucky couldn’t really do anything about it. He had tried to avoid it once. Got to about 72 hours before Steve drugged his coffee. He didn’t let the man near the pot again. But his point was made. 

So instead, he would brave the reoccurring terrors that found him in his sleep. Visions of frigid temperatures and biting metal digging into his neck, wrist, and ankles. Screaming that was all to familiar to be anyone else’s. All memories from HYDRA. 

And it still haunted him in consciousness. Coming in contact with cool tile or cold showers would send him into a panicked fit. Pulling him back into his more unpleasant experiences. Then called being a sissy, now known as a panic attack. 

Though most people expected the darkness to have a similar effect on him, it was actually the light that gave him trouble. So used to painfully bright fluorescents being shoved in his face, whether it be for operation or just as means of torture. 

The darkness was, to him, painted in a better light (THAT WAS UNINTENTIONAL. GOD BARTON WAS RUBBING OFF ON HIM). 

The only times where he was surrounded by pitch blackness was at the end of his day, when everything was done and over. When those HYDRA bastards would throw him into a 6 by 6 vibranium cell where he would try (and usually fail) at getting 2 and a half hours of sleep. 

But it meant safety. 

That’s why Bucky would always find himself staring blankly into the inky shadows of his room, recovering from his failure of an attempt at sleep. 

But tonight just wouldn’t cut it. 

So, he begrudgingly rolled out of his sweat soaked sheets. Standing from the mattress with a groan (followed by an ensemble of pops and cracks of his stiff bones), he he changed out of his damp t shirt in into a comfortable drawstring sweat shirt that could only be described as “ lived in”. But it did a good job of covering his prosthetic, so it was his go-to. 

With the final addition of his Captain America slippers (a gift from Steve of course), he seemed himself ready to head out. 

The hallway was dark and empty when he stepped out, not a single light was on behind any of the doors either. Grateful for the cover and for lack of people, Bucky continued down to the main kitchen, hoping to get something to drink and maybe snag one of those petite cakes if there were any left. 

As he trudged past rows of dark and noiseless doors, Bucky felt like he wasn’t meant to be there. Even though he had been living with the rest of the Avengers (by Steve’s insistence after he was cleared from Wakanda), he always had sense of misplacement, like he was intruding in their life’s just by being there. 

Of course he was! He, the sole reason the team even fell out in the first place, was now living under their roof, eating their food, using their resources, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine how Stark was taking this. 

Hmm. Stark. He had only spoken to the man in passing for the past couple of weeks. And they were actually starting to get comfortable with each other’s presence. But when that Peter kid showed up…well he just sort of closed in on himself after that. Scarcely coming up from his work and when he did, he stayed out the socialization. 

Now, the only person Bucky felt at ease with was Steve. Which, don’t get me wrong, is better than he could have possibly imagined only a couple of months ago. But he really wished he was able to move on with his life and start something new instead of having to rely on what he had in the past. 

But HYDRA had changed him so that moving on could never be an option. He was too broken and faulty to be able to try to live like once did. So, in a cruel twist of fate, he would never be truly free of HYDRA. 

But he was satisfied with what he could manage. He even if all he would ever do is live in the shadow of the stranger that was James Barnes, at least he was able to live a life other than that of the Winter Sold- 

The clinking of utensils stilled Bucky in his thoughts, jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen just around the corner. 

No one was ever up at this hour 

And if they were, they never lingered long enough to stumble upon company. Each resident having their own personal reason as to not wish to socialize this early. 

Before and now more than ever with his training, Bucky had found himself to be subconsciously observant of those around him. While at one point, it had been called people-watching, a good half of his life taught it to be scoping out the target. Learning their tells and ticks, memorizing routines and sleep schedules, and knowing like second nature their breathing pattern and habits. 

While Bruce and Steve slept through the night soundly, Clint and Natasha (along with the rest of the resident spies and assassin’s including himself) brave the darkness after waking up, and on the off occasion they end up leaving their rooms, they make quick work out of getting what they need before retreating back into solitude. 

Everyone else was on a different part of the floor and thus, had a second, smaller kitchen for their convenience. Even if he didn’t take any of that knowledge into consideration, he had subconsciously checked each door when he had passed, making sure each one was shut and dark. Without any sound. 

No one could possibly have been up. And yet the dimmed lights and sounds of bustling from the nearing kitchen said otherwise. 

So he did what any self respecting person with a stranger in their home would do. 

He walked right fucking in. 

Cause god forbid he gets enough sleep to deal with this shit. 

But that doesn’t mean he didn’t come prepared. 

Bucky crept into the kitchen, Captain America slippers in hand, poised to strike, suddenly very grateful for his extensive stealth conditioning 

A quick sweep of the perimeter revealed that he was completely alone (with one exception). He couldn’t call out to the tower’s resident AI to confirm this, however, (although he knew her name was FRIDAY, he had taken to calling her ‘Siri’ or ‘Alexa’ to piss Tony off whenever he was around. She was totally into it) for fear of alerting whoever it was that was with him in the room. 

The act of incapacitating the intruder wouldn’t be a problem. 

He was without any visible gear or arming, nothing too special about him, but HYDRA’s tech was always expanding. God knows what inhumane procedures they’ve come up with since he had left. 

For all he knew, he was dealing with an enhanced _ (*wink-wink nudge-nudge*) _. 

But something nagged at him. Nothing about this guy seemed threatening. Hell, he seemed more at home than he did “Nazi advocate”. But he pushed his concerns to the back of his head. 

His position still hadn’t been compromised, so he risked inching closer to his new-found target. Not wanting to take any chances in missing his shot (not that he would. Though, sleep deprivation could prove to be an unseen factor). 

The guy was, admittedly, scrawnier than expected. His clothes almost hanging off of him like he was a clothesline. All shoulders and no torso. Though, he did have a surprising amount of muscle mass. 

With their back turned towards him, he had a clear shot at this guy’s head. His (oddly familiar) curly, mop of brown…WAIT- 

“Mr. Barnes?” Startled a pubescent voice. While lost in his realization, he hadn’t noticed the perp turning around in his seat, now facing him with a wide-eyed brown gaze. 

Peter was staring at him with confusion (and exhaustion) written all over his face. It was then he also realized that he was still holding the slipper over his head like a blunt weapon. 

He quickly corrected himself by dropping his arm out of sight, which, in reality, really didn’t help his innocence. 

A beat of silence passed as the two just stared, each trying to decipher the other’s next move. 

“Were you… were you going to, um, _ attack _me with, with a slipper?” 

“Don’t take it personal, kid.” He huffed. “You have no idea what tricks people have pulled just to get in here. From what I could tell from behind, you could’ve been here to kill me.” He slumped down into the bar stool next to him. “Unless, ‘course, you _ are _ here to kill me?” 

“W-w-what?! N-no! O-of _ c _ _ ourse _ not! Why would you even- no. Just no.” 

It was a bit fun to watch him flounder about with his explanation for his non-murder motives. He was too easy to fluster, that’s for sure. <strike> Kinda like Steve… </strike>

“Mkay, so, better question, what’s a kid like you doin’ up at 2 in the mornin? Cause hopefully, I'm right in assuming you at least _ tried _ to sleep.” Bucky questioned instead. Honestly, he had completely forgotten the kid’s weekly sleep over at the tower. Apparently, it was to give him and Stark more time to science the shit out something. Those two nerds too similar for his comfort. Though, Peter did tend to be more humbled than the billionaire playboy. 

Peter turned back to what looked to be the most diabetic cup of coffee to ever be summoned from hell. Taking a long, drawn out sip before responding. “I would guess the same as you.” 

Now that caught him off guard. Cause if this barely-even-an-adult child was having the same sort of bone chilling nightmares as him, the 90-something (lost track) year old war vet and terrorist survivor, then his life must’ve been shittier than he expected the modern city-dweller to be. But obviously, he misread the comment. It couldn’t be like that…right? 

But before he could even voice his concerns, the kid beat him to it, clarifying his statement. “Yah, bad dreams. Not really new to them, I manage. Do you want some?” He changed the, obviously touchy, subject, gesturing to the coffee pot. 

“Uhh.., yah. But I’m more of a ‘black-as-my-soul’ kinda guy.” The humorous exhale he received in return made all of his intense pop-culture studies extremely worth it <strike> (why did his approval mean so much to him?) </strike>. But as Peter went to prepare his drink, he could see a tenseness in his figure, a sort of strain he was maintaining. To hide something. 

Once all the drinks had been poured, the two were left sitting in silence. But inside, Bucky’ mind was going a mile a minute. What had this kid gone through that caused his expression to be so guarded? Peter looked like he he had slept on a bed of nails if the bruise-like bags were anything to go by. And by the way his shirt clung to his skin like a speedo, he could tell that the little sleep he did get was interrupted by cold sweat. 

From the brief interactions he shared with him, he has chalked the kid up to a stuttering, Star Wars obsesses mess of insecurities and innocence who may or may not be well versed in the ways of Gen-Z. But after midnight, he seemed to be a different person. With a lot more going on under the surface. 

It pained him to think about all the times Peter had to hide his issues behind a bubbly smile. From experience, he could tell you that these problems weren’t every now and then. It was a daily struggle of upholding normality while your brain wants to douse it’s self with bleach. Always looking over your shoulder constantly. Waiting for a ball to drop only to be left waiting. Being afraid every night knowing something unpleasant would be waiting for you whenever you closed your eyes. 

“Do you wanna tell me ‘bout it? And, before you say no, remember we’re in the same sinkin’ boat.” The others eyes flitted about his face, searching for a trace of insincerity. When he found none, he sighed, placing his cup down to rub at his eyes with the palm of his hands. Blinking away the need for sleep before starting, unease creeping its way into his expression. 

“When my Mom and Dad died, I moved in my Aunt May and Uncle Ben in Queens. And I stayed with then for most of my life. Now, I just live with my Aunt. It was great, it still is, but back then everything just seemed, _ fuller _you know?” he sighed, eyes drifting about the room to come to a rest on anything other than the person in front of him, his voice starting to waiver as he progressed with his story. 

“M-my, um, my Uncle Ben, he… well he and I went to the store one night. About a year ago, actually.” He fiddled with his spoon as he continued. “When we got to the checkout, there was this shady guy in front of us. When he pulled a gun on the cashier, Ben, w-well, h-he…” Peter fell short in his story telling, desperately hoping Bucky understood where it was going. The solemn gaze he received told him he got the message. 

He continued, getting more worked up the longer he talked about his past. “A-and I know it was completely out of my control and it wasn’t my responsibility, but it was! I was there and I could’ve done something! I could’ve called for help o-or chase after him b-but I _ didn’t _and now he’s-!” Dead. Gone. Never coming back. And the kid was letting himself suffer over a choice he couldn’t control. 

“A-a-nd I could’ve fought and I would’ve probably won! I had the power to do so! B-but I-I just _ s-stood _ there a-nd _ w- _ _ watched _ _ him bleed _ a-nd, and…” 

But he couldn’t. 

His scrawny ass would have _ easily _been overpowered if he had tried to intervene. 

And yet here he was, treating the whole situation like a playground brawl between an 8th grader and toddler with scissors. 

Acting like he not only stood a chance, but like the entire hypothetical bout would've been one sided if he had simply taken a part. 

It’s not like he had training or powers. He couldn’t of just walked up to the guy and break his arm (not that he even would if he could. To selfless to actually fight the unfair fight. If anything he would just take it harder, knowing that he _ could’ve _stopped…it…) 

No. 

No way. 

No way in hell. 

It was just a stupid thought. 

There was zero evidence to even justify his suspicions. 

It was just the exhaustion getting to him. 

Yet, looking closer at him, it was unnervingly easy to put Peter under this new light. He had seen all the signs. The way he had effortlessly grazed by the vibranium shield aimed directly at his head, thrown at speeds not humanly possible and yet too slow to make its mark. 

His, seemingly, over-exaggerated reaction to the normally muted frequencies of rare metal, since it absorbed the kinetic vibrations nearby, including sound (the princess Shuri had talked a lot about the properties of his new prosthetic while he was in the lab), should've been marked as a red flag seeing as not only had he been able to _ hear _ it, the sound was loud enough for him to be in _ pain _. 

And how he had managed to hold his own in a fight against the entirety of the Avengers for a good 5 minutes. Pretty impressive if you think about the odds of a fight that was 7 to 1 even in normal circumstances. Then, when you factor in the weaponry, the training, the enhancements, the _ vast age difference..., _it shouldn't have been possible. 

And let’s not forget his mysterious disappearing act during the argument. It had caught everybody by surprise, him having had slipped past an entire team of grade-A spies, hit-men, and undercover operatives. That required at least some sort of training or experience or ability. 

And- 

The spoon was missing from this picture. And thank god (or maybe not) for his trained eye or he defiantly would have over-looked the glint of stainless steel coming from between Peters tightly clasped hands. Which were held at such an angle that a metal utensil couldn’t possibly hold. 

Curse his over-analytical brain. 

But before he could address his suspicions, he had to prevent a panic attack. But one look at the kid told him he was too late. His eyes had taken on a ‘glossed-over’ look and his posture was the exact opposite of lax. And every other second or so, his body would erupt into agitated twitches. 

Well shit. 

Okay. He knew how to handle this. 

With a steady hand, he reached out his right hand and grasped the others upper arm, hold firm against the tremors wracking his body. Peter tried to duck away from view, yet failing to hide the stream of tears falling from his trembling chin. 

Taking a steadying breathe, he rubbed a cool metal thumb against his bare skin, allowing the kid to be grounded by the cold, textured plating of his prosthetic without intruding on his personal space. His touch hadn't been refused for pushed away yet, so he ventured further down his arm. Once he came to his hands, gently pulling them apart to retrieve the damaged silver ware, (upon closer inspection finding it to be indented with finger impressions). 

So, super strength. He could work with that. 

Slipping his hand in place of the spoon, Bucky was taken back by the unexpected vise-grip he received in return. But luckily vibranium was stronger. 

“Breathe.” he advised, making sure to keep his voice low and reassuring as no to spook him. He had done this multiple times with Stevie, more when he was younger, though. Now, it seemed he was the one needing comfort more often than not. But there was the occasional instant with Wanda. 

“You’re safe, you’re going to be okay. Nothing is going to hurt you.” As he spoke, he gently lead the kid off of his stool and onto the floor, crouching down beside him as he continued to reassure him. “It’s the middle of the night on a Saturday. You’re in Stark Tower.” 

At the mention of the name ‘Stark’, the frantic kid visibly calmed, his grip eased as the shaking subsided. Obviously, the man meant more to him than he was letting on. But if it helped… 

“That’s right. Tony. He’s only a couple doors down. Safe and sound. He’s okay, and you will be, too. Just breathe. _ Breathe _.” 

“Mr. Barnes,” chimes in FRIDAY, making him suddenly aware of her presence. “Might I suggest waking up the boss seeing as he is the most capable of handling Peter in this state.” 

Huh. How many times had this happened to Stark? He was a better parent then he had given him credit for. 

“Can’t you just do it?” 

If an artificial-intelligence could sound exasperated _ and _frantic at the same time, this one was spot on. 

“I would if I could, but boss has disabled me in his lab when he works so that I don’t ‘disturb him in the zone’. 

Bucky nodded, (though he was sure she couldn’t actually see him) turning his attention back the subject at hand. Minding his fragile state, he slowly pulled his hands from the others. Careful to make any sudden movements that might spook him, he crouched down and whispered “I’m going to go get Tony. He’s gonna come and help, okay?” 

Peter seemed to have heard him and, squeezing his eyes shut, nodded feebly. 

Haven been given the ‘all clear’, he stood up from the ground, keeping his eyes on the trembling mass still curled up on the ground. He was about to make a break for the stairs (the elevator seemed too slow for his taste) when his foot caught on the leg of the stool, knocking it over. 

He reacted without thinking, diving over the counter to try to prevent _ something _from happening. Whether it be the stool from falling or Peter from spiraling. 

But he was too late. 

It hit the tile with a resonating ‘bang’ <strike> that almost could’ve been mistaken for gun shots </strike> that sent the kid flinching 15 feet in the air. 

And that wasn’t an exaggeration. Faster than he could blink, Peter had pushed himself off of the ground, reaching inhuman heights, before sloppily landing on the ceiling. Instead of falling immediately back to the ground, he clung to the ceiling, stumbling for his footing before ultimately hugging his knees like he had done on the ground<strike> like a bat . </strike> (authors note: Spider. Like a spider.)

He was shaking harder than a leaf in a wind tunnel. His face, from what he could see, was twisted and contorted into and expression full of so much pain. Muffled whimpers and whines could be heard through the obstructing arms. And it hurt him so much, to see someone so young experiencing something so traumatizing. Except this time, it was worse, seeing as Bucky was unable to help in anyway. 

He couldn’t risk running off to fetch Tony, needing to be there in case his condition worsened. 

“Hey, FRIDAY? Do you think you could find a way to around your system? Like with a back door or overriding the code?” 

“No, I don’t think I can.” 

Before he could even think of another solution, she continued. 

“It is unnecessary, though. Peters situation meets the criteria of the “23-19” protocol which allows me to override any in-place protocols that prevent Peter from receiving help in situations like these.” 

“23-19? Stark didn’t even try with that one, did he?” He stated aloud, momentarily distracted. 

“Trust me,” she humored him. “It’s there.” 

As FRIDAY, supposedly, fetched the man, Bucky stared helplessly back to the suffering kid on the ceiling. 

All he could do now, was talk. 

“Hey, kid?” He murmured, remembering his apparent heightened senses, which had to include hearing if evidence was anything to go by. He had gotten sensory overloads before, though he managed them himself, anything loud only made things worse. He didn’t know by how much Peter could her him, but apparently it was too much seeing as the sound of his voice made him curl up even tighter into himself, grasping at his ears. 

Okay. Let’s try this again. “FRIDAY?” He whispered, going even quitter when he saw the other flinch at his words. Hopefully, the AI could hear him at this level. He had to be mindful of the young mutant’s enhancements. Luckily, the small flashing LED’s on ceiling tole him she had picked up on his voice <strike>(</strike> <strike> Kinda like Alexa ) </strike>. 

“Initiate “Black Out” protocol.” 

At his command, the world around them was instantly turned down a notch. Like everything around them had been put through a filter. All lights in the vicinity were turned off completely, as well as the floor to ceiling windows darkened in response, obstructing any and all light coming from outside. A normal person wouldn’t be able to see jack shit, but his own eyes easily adjusted. 

Along with the loss of light came the loss of sound. The blaring of car horns and bustling of crowds was immediately silenced, coming through the walls almost muted. Even his own footsteps seemed quieter. 

He hadn’t even realized he had been uncomfortable until now. 

Hell, even the air around him seemed to have stilled (is that even possible?). 

Peter had felt it, too. Through the darkness, his shadowy form lost some of its tension, the whimpering subsided, his breathing turned shallow in contrast to the strained heaving of 10 seconds earlier, and, without even knowing how he knew, his eyes had opened, but only barely. 

But it was a start. 

Breathe in. 

Breath out. 

“Its okay.” 

One step. 

“You’re okay.” 

Then another. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay.” 

Even closer. 

“Your name is Peter Parker.” 

3 steps. 

“You’re 15 years old, and you hate it when people get that wrong.” 

Then another. 

“You live with your Aunt May in Queens.” 

And another. 

“You’re really smart, even if you don’t think so.” 

He was directly below him now. 

“You intern for Tony Stark and stay the night at the Tower on weekends.” 

With the little light they had left, Bucky was able to stare right into Peters eyes as, he could only assume from his position, he stared back. 

“You keep secrets from everyone cause your just a stupid punk tryna protect his family, when really, he doesn’t have to cause he’s got the Avengers in his corner. We’re practically your family now, kid. ‘Cept for Stevie. Pretty sure you’ve got some kinda vendetta against him. 

The displeasurable hum he heard at the mention of the Captains name told him that struck a nerve. 

“But even he would stand up for yah. And so would I. And Barton and Nat and Wanda and Bruce and every other person you’ve awkwardly stumbled into.” 

His hunched figure told Bucky he wasn’t very convinced. Time to try a different route. 

“You’ve got somethin’ special, kid. Let’s you do _ things _you wouldn’t be able to do otherwise. And lucky for you, you’re hangin around some of the most well versed in that area of expertise. 

The shaking had completely ceased, and no signs of discomfort where given off. But Peter still seemed reluctant to come down. Most likely because coming down meant he had to explain why it was even necessary to come down from the ceiling in the first place. 

But why? He had already made it clear he knew about his abilities. There was no reason to hesitate. 

And suddenly, it all clicked for him right there. 

The sudden appearance of a certain vigilante at the airport followed by a new ‘intern’ of Stark's that’s far beyond just an unpaid employee. The father-son like closeness that connected the two nerds that just appeared out of nowhere. I hadn’t just happened. They had something else pulling them together. 

Scars that had been passed off as unimportant accidents now clearly recognizable as that of rusty knifes and the graze of a bullet. His crooked nose cocked in a direction that could have only be caused by brute force. 

So either this kid was getting into some serious spats at school (though that wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary considering everything he had going for him), or he he was spending his nights battling with the scum of the streets of New York. 

Remembering the incident at the airport and every video he had ever watched on the red and blue spandexed spider, he could easily recognize the likeliness in their shared figure, posture, stature, powers, and speaking habits. Especially the awkward small talk. 

And honestly, he wasn’t that surprised. The selfless idiot seemed like the type to throw his ass in the middle of mortal danger to spare a couple of kittens (without a doubt, one his most favorited stunts of the kid). 

So he didn’t even stop to look fazed at this sudden realization, not even reacting and instead, seamlessly switching gears. 

“And even if you_ are _a vigilante, you could always use some training from the best in the heroing business.” 

Silence. Then, a whisper. 

“You, y-you know?” 

“Honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t recognize your voice sooner, you know, from the airport and all? Seriously, Pete, only you would know the rigidity-flexibility ratio of carbon fiber.” 

“You remember that?” 

“Course I remember it. Hell, I remember the whole damn fight.” 

“Cause you got your ass whooped?” He snarked under his breath thinking he could be heard. 

“No, cause it was so unbelievably stupid, I had to stop in the middle of it to keep from laughin’ out loud. And because Sam later was analyzing the audio to try to figure out how old you were.He’s the guy with wings, if you didn’t know.” 

Now that did seem to catch him off guard, but at least it got him off the ceiling. Without being asked, FRIDAY turned the lights back on, though keeping the transition gradual as not to blind them. 

He came to land in a soundless crouch, most likely gained from all the years of doing the same thing over and over again. 

“Yah, I know.” His gaze shifted to the ground. He peruses his lips in thought, before speaking again. 

“Uh, how old did you think I was?” 

“Huh?” 

“You said he analyzed the audio, right? You must’ve gotten some kind of age range or something.” 

“Well, lets just say I liked it better when I though I got my “ass whooped” by a guy in his twenties. Though, now I think it was a little off seeing as FRIDAY was the one who was looking it over.” 

“I am required to keep Peters identity unknown by protocol-” 

“THAnks FRI.” Said Peter interjected, blushing profusely. 

“That bad, huh?” 

“Tony doesn’t know when to quit.” 

They lapsed back into silence, the other shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, holding onto his arm with is other hand to keep them from fidgeting. Obviously uncomfortable with the conversation to come. 

And, of course, Bucky had a million questions and a million more things he wanted to say to to his reckless ass. 

But they had both been through enough that night. 

“You really did a number on that spoon, kid. Don’t know how your gonna cover that one up.” 

“O-oh! Did I? I can, um, try to fix it if you still have it…” 

“Uh, yah actually! It’s over here.” 

He handed him the utensil in with slight anticipation, a little bit exited to see what he was capable of first hand without the notion of a panic attack consuming his focus. 

Easily as if it where a pipe cleaner, he eased the spoon back to its original shape, turning it around in his hands before handing it back with a satisfied nod. 

More silence. 

“So…” Peter started. “Um….” He looked to be struggling with his words, the fiddling of his cup displaying his classic lack of social skills. But before he could even say anything, the elevator doors sounded, followed by the pattering of footsteps. And from around the corner burst Tony himself with all the motivation of a worried parent <strike>(seriously, it was uncanny)</strike>. 

He screeched to a halt once laying eyes on the unexpectedly tame and not-at-all urgent scene before him. 

Still glaring at them with disbelieving eyes, he addressed the otherwise empty room. 

“Baby girl, you better not’ve lied to me.” 

“I did no such thing. There was, in fact, a situation involving Peter and his mental state, but it was resolved as you were on your way up here.” 

“And you didn’t tell me that, why?” 

“You needed to get out of your lab, boss.” 

“Pepper put you up to this, didn’t she?” 

“You do not have high enough jurisdiction to access that information.” 

“High enou- how can anyone be higher than me?!_ I’m the one who _\- oh forget it.” He turned to face the other two witnessing this exchange, both looking on with bemused expressions. 

“You good, kid?” He asked dismissively, using an uninterested front to hide the pang of worry in his question. Peter was able to look past it and pick up on his true intentions. 

He smiled knowingly. “Yah, Mr. Stark. I’m fine.” 

“Uhuh. Enough with this ‘Mr. Stark’ business already. I’m not your freaking boss.” His eyes roved over Bucky for a split second too long, the suspicion clear in his gaze, before turning sluggishly on a heel, making his way towards the bedrooms. 

He was definitely gonna hear about this from him later on. But, in the mean time... 

“So, Spiderman.” He spoke as more of a statement then as means of addressing him. 

“Uh, yah.” 

“Well, that explains the new gym equipment.” Bucky commented in an attempt to ease the tension. “I'm assuming I'm not the only one who knows about this. I mean, Tony’s the one who recruited you, so that’s a given. But it's just him, right?” 

Peter suddenly found the hem of his shirt more interesting than the conversation. 

“You’re kiddin’ me.” 

“Well...” 

Jesus Christ, what had he gotten himself into? 

* * *

*Bonus* 

-TONY- 

It had been all over the news. 

All over the world. 

People across the internet wouldn’t shut up about it. 

This centuries plague had already crossed the Pacific (or the Atlantic, depending on how you looked at it) and was making its way through North America. 

A pandemic some were already comparing to the Influenza outbreak of 1918. People were confined to their homes like global house arrest. Public gatherings were now limited to 10 people maximum. 

But no one was gathering at all. 

No one was “out and about”. 

The typical zoo that was Manhattan traffic was now laughingly scarce. With the exception of 

the occasional car (of personal use), the streets were dead. No one was about to risk an Uber or, god forbid, a taxi. And busses were nonexistent. 

Stores were reported bare to the point of empty. At this time of day, most of them had already given up and closed early. Staff that was deemed “unnecessary” was let go. Some businesses shut down completely. 

Schools had been canceled, sporting events postponed, concerts refunded, reservations reimbursed. It went on and on. 

World-wide paranoia was keeping the public behind locked doors and in front of the TV. Tuned in and waiting for any speck of good news to come. 

Global statistics were pulled up on holographic screens surrounding him. Tony tracked the number of confirmed cases, eyeing it over the rim of his coffee mug that, at first glance, hid the fact that it held Vodka instead of the intended caffeine. 

As he sifted through scraps of mews, the plethora of sciency articles, and shit tone of tabloids, he resisted the urge to top off his drink, instead turning to the resident AI for answers. 

“FRI, give me everything you’ve got on this thing.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, she responded. 

“On December 31st, 2019, it was reported that a new string of Corona Virus, Covid 19, was identified by Chinese researchers in connection with a pneumonia-like illness based in Wuhan City, China. On March 11th, 2020-” 

“Skiiiiiip.” He interrupted. 

That ticked her off, though she said nothing about it. 

“Yes, boss. Covid 19 has been proven to be severely similar to the 2002 outbreak of the SARS virus or Covid 2, which was an earlier string of the Corona virus with a case-fatality rate of 20%. The same occurrence can also be seen with the 2012 MERS outbreak, its case-fatality rate being 34%. The Corona of 2020, however, has an anti-climactic case-fatality rate of 3.7%. About 1 in every 100. 

The severity of Covid 19 is partly caused by the fact that it has reached a larger audience and, thus, has a higher death-toll. It has a reproduction ratio of something between 2 and 3, meaning that one infected person has the chance to infect 3 others, who then have the chance to collectively infect 9 others-” 

“And so on. What do you take me for, a preschooler?” 

“Well you sure do act like one.” She retorted, the eye roll audible in her voice. 

“Wait, wha-” 

“Moving on. Symptoms of Covid 9 include that of a progressively high fever, dry couch, shortness of breath, and those similar that are similar to the common flu. Symptoms typically arise in 2 to 14 days of initial exposer and lasts from 3 to 5 days. If your symptoms last longer, it is recommended you seek immediate medical attention for fear of infecting those around you as well. This is essentially a respiratory issue and can make it so its almost impossible to breathe for the severely infected. While a vaccine is currently not available, clinical trials are underway for viable treatment.” 

Tony hummed, as if intrigued. Off to the side, however, he pulled up an empty screen. Jotting down a not for himself that read: “Corona Virus: nothing we can do.” 

Of course, FRIDAY saw this (he had meant her to). In response to his “joke”, she proceeded to pull up a (virtual) stack of files larger than is (admittedly mild, if you considered the fact that the majority of it consisted of speeding tickets) criminal record. 

“There is a lot that can be done, _ boss _” 

Mindlessly skimming through the headlines, he signaled her to go on.   


“Cleanliness has proven to be a major factor in containing the virus. Washing hands for more than 30 seconds has guaranteed to keep you at much lesser risk.” 

“And it scrubs the germs away.” He said, quoting the nursery rhyme. 

His comment wen ignored as she continued. “Hand sanitizer works as a substitute for hand washing. The percentage of people who wash their hands daily has gone up from 66%.” 

“Who wasn’t washing before?” 

“Since it has grown airborne, experts advise you to cover your mouth when sneezing of coughing.” 

“Question still stands on who _ wasn’t _doing these things before all this?” 

“Social-distancing is also recommended as a way to stunt the rapid spread of Corona. Staying indoors and away from crowds, only going out when necessary. Kind of like you.” 

“Oooh. Ouch, FRI. Harsh words coming from someone how just copy and pasted all that information off Wikipedia.” 

“I am not a dictionary.” She retorted defensively. 

“I know you’re not, baby girl. But, just to recap,” He continued “the best that anyone who _ isn’t _me can do is live out the next couple months or so acting like everyone has a restraining order on everyone and live solely off a bottle of Purell. Oh, and let’s not forget the whole “no breathing in any general direction .” 

“In a way, yes. I’m surprised you retained any of that-” 

“And furthermore, it means that my shipment of White Cloud 3 Ply Ultra Quilted Northern Plus isn’t gonna come for another 2 weeks?” 

A pause. Then, a sigh. 

“You know, boss? For a second there, I actually thought you could be serious about this.” 

“Ah, well… I guess I had one too many of these.” He said, sheepishly, gesturing to his mug. He then sighed, losing all of the humor in his tone as he embraced the seriousness of the situation. 

“You know, this information is probably gonna be outdated by tomorrow. With all the new shit they’re digging up on this thing, I mean.” 

“I am aware. But by tomorrow, I will able to update you of any and all changes in circumstances.” 

Dumping the remanence of his cup into the sink, he supported himself on the rim of the counter. Rubbing his hand along is scruffy jaw line, he craned his neck to stare up at the plastered ceiling. 

“Thanks FRI.” 

“Any time, boss.” 

A pause. 

“You know, this will pass. Society will overcome this just as they did in the past. Nothing about this is your fault. 

. 

. 

. 

“…I know.” 

* * *

Guess what?   
  


I can art!

Some doodles for those of you who waited for me all this time!

Just for you!!

<https://www.pinterest.com/pin/670262357030139702/>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wAsSuP  
So  
I know there was a big delay with this chapter  
And I would usually beat myself up about it  
But a good acquaintance of mine told me to “use the spoons I have. Don’t blame yourself if you don’t have enough spoons to do what others want you to do” which is now official my wallpaper thankyouverymuch  
So my reasons are my reasons  
And yes, I’m sorry for keeping you guys waiting  
But I to need some time to read the work of others before I may continue my own  
(words of wisdom fit for a T-shirt)
> 
> Also, Corona Virus. I live in one of the states mainly effected and yet I still feel like this thing is miles away. The one good thing that came out of this is that its bringing the world together. So lets at the very least do our part in keeping it contained and support those who need supporting. Also know I am not a medical professional so please do not use my word as self diagnostics or anything of the sort. And some of this stuff could possible be outdated by the time it gets read, so... don't quote me on this.
> 
> So yah  
Thank you for being patient  
And thank you for inspiring me with your comments  
You have no idea how much I love to hear your input
> 
> Cheers


	10. God Damn Animal Crackers

-Peter-

The past couple of weeks had been a doozy.

Peter had managed to make friendly with pretty much _all _of the Avengers <strike>(I’m not fangirling, you’re fangirling)</strike>.

In only a matter of days, Tony and Bruce has accepted him as an honorary “science bro” (as they called it) which entailed every other day after school and entire weekends sciencing the shit out of something or another. Honestly, it was _still_ hard to get over the fact the two of the smartest people on Earth enjoyed PopTarts just as much as he did (and he was willing to look past the fact that Bruce preferred unfrosted, but only if he kept his agreement of never eating them within 15 feet of himself).

For some reason, there was an unspoken alliance against Peter between Bucky and Nat seeing as they had been forcefully dragging him away to the training room every time he stepped foot into the tower. And by training, he meant straight out of a copy of “Assassination for Dummies” because the shit he had been learning day-to-day was obviously meant to kill. Of course, he would _never _apply any of it to battle, but it would make a good threat to the uncooperative baddie (I mean, who wouldn’t stand down to a guy who says he can take a man out with only his thighs, spoken with all the confidence of a drag queen. Actually, that got kinky really quick).

He had found an unlikely friend in Wanda. Ever since she and Peter had discovered their similar anxiety issues (and shared love of Harry Potter), they had taken to starting a book club. The “book club” actually being an excuse to eat shit, watch shit, and excessively theorize over how Harry Potter and The Hobbit are from the same universe (they had already read the books like a _true_ Potterhead). _That_ also being used as an excuse to escape when anxiety rears its ugly head (emergency book club meetings weren’t _too_ weird, right?).

Clint had introduced him to Sam only 2 days ago. The man was a bit skeptical at first, having still been left with questions unanswered since their initial run-in. But once he and Peter were handed the Wii controllers, all previous unease was flung out the window as an intense game of Mario Kart broke out between them. A battle of the ages some (mainly Clint) might say. But playing as Toadette, Peter was never one to lose.

He was a bit ashamed to say he had been avoiding Steve all throughout his time at the Tower. He wasn’t angry at him per say, but he was being warry. Who knows what the man thought of him now after his outburst. But beside that, he had pretty much met everyone there is to know.

But while Natasha and Bucky knew, and supported, Peters “spider-side”, no one else (sans Mr. Stark) in the Tower had any clue. Even Rhodey, who he was almost as close to as he was to Tony, was oblivious.

And he was keeping it that way. Even though it had become even harder to keep secrets from the people who were slowly becoming like a second family, it was the better alternative to them finding out that the ‘Amazing Spiderman’ was just the baby-faced, parent-less, Star Wars obsessed “Penis” Parker. He was kinda glad now that he turned down Tony’s offer to join because if the Rogues did find out, they wouldn’t even _consider _letting him on the team.

And besides, he didn’t need even _more_ people (than there already were) treating him like a baby (I mean, Training Wheels protocol? That’s just cruel).

That was why this week, he now realized, was going to be harder than he thought.

School had let out that afternoon for 9 days of Spring Break, something Peter had been ecstatic about for some time.

His Aunt May had her big annual “Doctor Conference” (or convention, he still wasn’t sure) scheduled for that week, which would take her out of state for a couple days. Before, he would usually be forced to tag along. He loves his Aunt to pieces, but there’s only so much to do in a tiny hotel room for hours on end. Only being let out to go to some fancy dinner with all of May’s doctor friends (it’s not that he can’t keep up with what they’re all saying, it’s just that constant condescendence gets old quickly).

Last year, Tony was able to fudge a bit and convince her to let Peter stay home alone, what with his internship responsibilities. Replace “internship” with “vigilante”, and it wasn’t a complete lie.

But now that she was aware of his double life, she had refused to leave him unsupervised in the case of Spiderman-related emergency. So, after one scathing phone call, she and Tony had arranged for Peter to stay the week at the tower.

Now, that alone was already enough to excite him, but not only was May going to attend the full 4 days of the <strike>conference</strike> convention, but, this year, she also would be staying 3 _extra_ days with friends living nearby. That meant 7 of the 9 days would be spent with all of Earths Mightiest Hero’s.

His head was _still _reeling.

But the first afternoon of his week-long stay turned out to be pretty anticlimactic, all the others off doing they’re own thing and Peter too unwilling to disturb them.

Right now, he was sprawled out on the couch with a bowl of animal crackers under one arm and a chemistry textbook propped up on his chest. Might as well get the school stuff out of the way while things were slow.<strike></strike>

And things _were_ slow.

…

For about 5 seconds.

Just as he was getting into an interesting bit on Statistical Mechanics (one of the pillars of modern physics), when all of a sudden, the once clear blue sky erupted into dark clouds and deafening thunder. Lightning arcing above, seemingly building up charge, before suddenly plummeting downward, striking the helipad just outside the window, causing Peter to flinch so hard he almost hit the ceiling (he had to stop himself from instinctively sticking and instead, let himself fall gracelessly back onto the floor. You just never knew who just happened to be watching).

And then it was over. The dark, angry clouds, just as quickly as they had appeared, immediately dissipated. Leaving behind a blue sky and an extremely shaken Peter.

At first, he didn’t move. With his Spidey-sense humming in warning in the back of his head, he was still left on alert. And it didn’t take a genius to tell that flash thunderstorms like _that _weren’t normal. For all anyone knew, it was some new super villain going after the Avengers (shocker. Wait, that would actually be a pretty cool name for someone with electricity-based powers. But let’s hope that’s not the case).

Slowly peering over the back of the couch, he scanned the view outside the window, searching for any sign of a person in painfully bright tights (bit hypocritical, I know).

Instead, what he saw could be argued to be even worse. Because as dust and dirt kicked up into the air began settle, two figures, one large and bulky, the other smaller and lanky, could be made out through the clouds of dust.

And he didn’t even need to see their faces to have a hunch at who they might be.

And also, you know, the iconic hammer, that was _still _crackling with electricity.

There had been talk about the tower of their arrival, though it had been spoken of like it was still a ways away. And since he would have, at the very least, been warned by FRIDAY, this was just as unexpected to him as it would be for everyone else.

Peter didn’t know if he should stay in an awe-induced shock or should be booking it to the nearest lockable room. Sure, he was a bit of a fan when it came to, well, _him_, but he had ruled his current lack of normal human functionality (and unnaturally sweaty pits) as an influential factor when it came too how bad he could embarrass himself in a conversation.

And for him to be the one to introduce himself felt like he was robbing that chance from somebody else. Knowing himself, he would end up saying all the wrong things, then he’d try to distract from the fact he said all the wrong things by going on a convoluted, rambling mess vaguely related to something sciency, then, in the end, he would forget to have told them his name in the first place. That was not a conversation he was in the mind set to suffer through at the moment. 

Honestly, any particularly engaging social interaction at all seemed like it would burn through all of his, already dwindling, energy. Even though he was (or he thought he was) a pretty sociable person, he was, without a doubt, a major introvert. Always seeming to retreat to solitude when he needed to recharge.

It might have been a blessing in disguise, actually, the fact that everyone else had been busy.

So, with approximately a minute or so until they stepped inside, he began to frantically scoop up the spilt animal crackers back into the bowl, not wanting to already be a bad house guest on day one.

Snatching the textbook facedown in the carpet, slipping in a bookmark between a random section in the book, he snapped the covers closed, mentally cringing at the thought of all the pages that were bent because of this. But he would be able to fix it later.

Right now, he needed to get out of there.

He would have been able to make it out, too, if he hadn’t spotted a discarded cracker abandoned under the couch. Positioned right in the center, right out of his reach. Normally, he would easily lift the furniture with one hand. But not willing to risk revealing himself, he opted out of the easy solution.

He would have been able to make it out, yes, if it weren’t for that damn cracker.

Just as his fingers managed to brush against the, now, inedible snack, the compressing weight of the couch above him was suddenly lifted off, relieving him of the very awkward position he was crammed into. He snatched the snack with giddy victory, only to have his grin whipped clean off, just then realizing that couches didn’t move on their own.

Whipping his head around so fast it pinched a nerve, he became He craned his neck upwards the best he could, squinting his eyes against the glint of the perfectly timed sunset. And standing there, just as his Parker luck would entail, was the one (or two) people Peter had been scrambling to avoid.

“Ah! Young Midgardian hiding under the furniture. You are unfamiliar! What sayeth thee?”

The shear volume of his voice was enough to set his teeth on edge, with or without enhanced hearing.

Before he could even begin to decipher the Shakespearean vocabulary, however, the second new comer stepped between them, looking a bit different than what he remembered him to be from the news footage all those years ago (he defiantly had greasier hair. Speaking of hair, one of them seemed to have an overwhelming lack of it).

Loki put an arm out in front of Thor, signaling him to back down. “Excuse my brute of a brother,” he spoke in sharp exasperation. “he wouldn’t know subtly if it knocked him out of the sky.”

“Well, the joke is on _you_, brother! I am unable to be knocked from the sky for I am too fast for any projectile. No matter how ‘subtle’ it is.”

The puppy-like god was too proud of his comeback to notice the eyeroll he received from the other. The trickster god, instead, turned his eyes on Peter. Eyeing him from where he stood, suspicion in his gaze. “Thor is correct, however. We were not warned of your stay. Just who exactly are you, child?”

Ah. There it was. Gathering all his resolve (that he could while still on the floor), he prepared his response. A simple question. With a simple answer. If he was going to do this, he had to make sure he thought through every word. No need to give the literal gods an excuse to distrust him and end up burning a hole through his head (could they do that?). Taking a breath, he spoke.

“Your hair looks different.”

…

…

…fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp.
> 
> Next time on <strike> GameGrumps </strike> Spidey Meets World.  
Srry for the long wait! I've been working on some personal commissions. This next chapter will come along speadily, tho. I was going to include the whole "hammer" thing, but I needed to get all the exposition in there, and you guys have been waiting long enough. So, until next time! Stay weird and stay kawaii my dudes. (And stay safe, and stay healthy, and away from people, and wash your hands, and just don't breathe in general. Easy enough for me the not-human late night YouTube prowler.)


	11. Peters No-No Square

-PETER-

*Inhale*

*Exhale*

What.

The hell.

Did he.

JUST.

SAY.

WHAT DID HE JUST SAY?!

Peter, as filter less as ever, was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he, in response to being suspected of home invasion and attempt of murder by two actual fricking GODS, had complemented them on their HAIR.

All chances of him having a normal conversation had now been lunched through the window and straight into a dumpster fire (and possibly steam rolled over if he was being honest).

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one taken aback by the raw word vomit that had escaped past the reaches of his mouth because Loki himself faltered in his accusing glare, blinking rapidly in surprise while an utter loss for words. This was just as much as a surprise to him as it was to Peter.

Thor, on the other hand, was grinning like an excitable puppy, a complete contrast to the threatening stance he had taken up only moments prior.

“Why yes, small intruder! I _have _made recent adjustments to my style of choice. Though, it came a great loss, I have found it to be more appropriate for battle and easier to maintain. I appreciate you taking notice!”

Wait, wha- oh.

It was in that moment that he realized that the once good 12 inches of golden flowing, concentrated manliness that was the God of Thunders infamous hair had been reduced to nothing more than a measly inch left on the top (how did he not notice that?!).

The devastated cries of fan girls everywhere echoed through his mind as he scrambled to think of a away to work off the misinterpreted complement.

Honestly, any change was welcomed change at this point. The persecuting route their conversation was taking that would have inevitably ended up in some sort of scuffle and, lets get real, Peter would get his ass whooped. Spiderman or not.

He wasn’t physically or emotionally prepared for over a trillion bolts of electricity through the chest.

So he could work with what he had.

“Y-yah! Your h-hair, uh, looksss… great! Really suits your, uh… whole… thing…?”

“Ah! Indeed it does! Though, I do fear it seems a bit drastic…”

“No! I-I mean, yes, it_ is _drastic, but in a good way! Yah! It really bring out your, uhh, eye…patch.”

Shit. When did he become a pirate?

“While, let it be known that the alterations made distinctly frame the massivity of your forehead, that is-”

Loki’s words were abruptly interrupted by the muffled sounds of blaring air horns. All heads (only 2 really) turned to Peter as he sheepishly pulled his phone from his pocket.

“Sorry, that’s my ringtone.” He mumbled, quickly shutting it off as to continue the conversation.

“As I was saying, that is not the most pressing matter at hand _brother_.”

“Loki. Brother. I understand your concern, truly I do! But you must admit that you are simply in a state of jealousy due to your hair looking like a slimy hair ball.”

His words were, once again, followed by sounding air horns, this time much louder seeing as the phone had been clutched tightly in Peters sweaty palms (he wouldn’t be surprised if his hands starting Spidey-sticking at that very moment).

“You know what, I am just gonna turn that off.”

“You know what, fine.” Spat the slimy hairball man, sensing the tension having been broken. “If your ‘Avenger friends’ have an intruder, then why should I care?! I _hope_ they perish in their sleep!”

Suddenly, a new voice spoke up from across the room. “If we did have an intruder, that _would_ be a problem.” Captain America spoke, pushing himself off from the wall he had been leaning on for god knows how long, and sauntered over to where they stood, resting an innocent hand on his shoulders as he consciously restrained himself from tensing up under his touch. “But lucky for us, Peter here is no threat.”

“Ah! Rogers! How long it’s been!” Thor boomed, his unnecessarily loud volume causing him to instinctively cover his ears. While to the others it would simply be an annoyance, to him, it was eleven times louder. And thus, eleven times more painful. That, added to Rogers unintentionally discomforting hand on his shoulder holding him firmly in place was starting to overwhelm him as he resisted from squirming out of it (not wanting to seem rude when he and Rogers had already got off on the wrong foot).

Luckily, no one seemed to pay him any attention, the two Avengers too focused on their brief reunion then some overreacting kid (though, Loki did seem to be giving him a look from the corner of his eye, though whether it be accusing or scrutinizing, he couldn’t tell).

“Well, old friend, we weren't expecting you so early to the tower. Otherwise we would have given you the heads up about the kid.”

“I'm not a kid...” the kid murmured half-heartedly, already tired of having to remind them of this. His focus <strike>mainly</strike>entirely taken up by the hand still resting right out of his line of sight and he couldn’t escape he was trapped he wanted to get out getOUTGETOFF-<strike></strike>

“Ha! It is truly no trouble at all! By the state of young Peter, he would have proven to be no challenge at all! His noodle arms would be no watch for my Asgardian strength.”

“Eh, you’d be surprised.” The blonde joked. “Oh, uh, my condolences on the destruction of Asgard. Always wanted to get a look at the place.”

“I see Banner has already informed you of our situation. It was necessary in the prevention of our sister Hela from exploiting Asgard for means of overseeing her blood-thirsty reign of terror across the nine realms.”

“Um, sorry to interrupt your really cool story, Mr. Thor,” Peter meekly interjected, trying to remind them he was still present <strike>and needed to be let go of.</strike> “But I, uh, didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Neither did we! You see-”

“wOAH WOAH WOAH, HOLD IT RIGHT THERE POINTBREAK!” Tearing his hyper-focused attention from the Captains grip on his shoulder, their conversation was interrupted by the booming voice of Tony Stark, frantically gesturing to Thor to pUT THE GODDAMN COUCH DOWN.

Thankful for the distraction, Peter managed to shake the mans grasp on him as Tony went on about how that couch was custom made from Italy and expertly placed and was not a dumbbell for Gods sake put it down.

With that said, Peter quickly made his escape, sneaking silently onto the elevator which would take him to Tony’s floor, a familiar place to go when he found himself feeling overwhelmed. Unbeknownst to him, a pair of critical eyes following him as he fled.

____________________________

Peter had always been the touchy-feely type as a kid (though, that was ruined for him when a certain baby sitter named Skip entered his life).

To this day, however, he still remained a lover of touch. Hugs especially (Ben had always given the best. A perfect balance between passionately gentle and groundingly firm that thought him the feeling of true security).

He had recently discovered that Mr. Stark himself possessed the same gift, though his more scarce. But never the less he relished in the contact. But there were times where physical contact was not all that welcomed, especially after a drainingly stressful day such as his, and _especially _from those who had hurt that which he loved. So that excluded Steve Rogers from getting too close.

He knew things between him and the Captain would never truly be , but he also knew that he had just been protecting something he loved. Someone he had only just gotten back and was too suddenly going to loose.

Peter tried to imagine what he would do if Mr.Stark was to threaten his Aunts life. And to be honest… that was something he didn’t want to think about. He couldn’t begin to visualize the not-so-heartless hero attempt to harm any civilian, let alone his aunt. The two got along swimmingly, and their shared parental role in his life only brought them closer.

But if it came down to it, he would fight to the death. But then again, May had nothing to do with the death of the mans parents, nor did she have any chance of defending herself or fighting back. On the other hand, Bucky was well over capable of going toe to toe against the Iron Man.

But even considering the circumstances, he wouldn’t have left him for dead. That was out of the question. He had already made this point with Toomes only a couple months prior.

But Peter knew he couldn’t avoid the man forever. So when FRIDAY informed him of dinner being served in the commons, he steeled his nerves and stepped out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again my lovelies!! Yes I know it’s been awhile and many of you have been doubting the continuation of this fic but I’m here to tell you that that day is yet to come!! I have a lot planned for this work and simply took a mental health break. I’ve been feeling bout of sorts as of late and didn’t want that effecting my work. But now I have returned ready to write!! Sorry for the cliff hanger. Just wanted to get something out there. Until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Stay safe my lovelies!


End file.
